


my address is your name

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, MT!Prompto, Other, kiddo!noctis being cute, mostly gen at first, no one controls daemons but ardyn, other pairings likely later on, rating to go up later on, uncle!ardyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: Noctis has the best weirdest uncle, ever. He has purple hair, he can speak languages no one else knows, and he can even talk todaemons. When rumors reach the Crown City that Niflheim's unstoppable army of Magitek Troopers might be connected somehow to the Scourge, Noctis's uncle takes a trip to Gralea to investigate.He brings back a lot more than just the truth.(In which Somnus told Bahamut where to shove his magic crystal, and Ardyn -- still the Starscourge -- became the immortal guardian of the line of Lucis. No one controls daemons but Ardyn, so he's got a score to settle with the Empire. And if he ends up with yet another nephew, what's one more?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Things I love: 
> 
> 1\. Uncle!Ardyn  
> 2\. MT!Prompto 
> 
> ....so I wrote this. Because I want MT!Prompto as a teenager raised by the weirdest guy in Lucis, what? Later chapters will be shippy, but this one is mostly gen since it starts when Noctis is a kid up until he's about 15. 
> 
> (A much more lighthearted AU than the other one. Eventual Noctis/Prompto, though it's mostly gen at first)
> 
> Unabashedly reveling in making Ardyn love tonberries. BECAUSE I LOVE TONBERRIES. Forever @venatornoctis's fault. 
> 
> Thanks to @marmolita for the beta, and for listening to me whine about the title for LITERALLY HOURS. It's from the Amanda Shires song "You Are My Home" :D

Noctis Lucis Caelum is convinced he has the weirdest uncle in all of Lucis. Maybe all of Eos.

But he’s also the _best._

First, his uncle has _purple hair_ , which is funny ‘cause everyone else in Noctis’s family has hair as black as pitch. And he tells wild stories that totally can’t be true – like how his favorite hat is older than Insomnia, and how _he’s_ the one who named the city “Insomnia” in the first place. His uncle has a black chocobo he talks to in a funny language no one else knows, and he teaches Noctis songs in that same language and laughs when Noctis sings them in front of important people, but won’t tell anybody what the words mean.

And sometimes he can make his face do this funny thing where it looks like it’s all full of ink instead of blood. Even in his eyes! Noctis thinks it’s super cool but his dad told him one time not to ask his uncle to do it in front of other people because it made them _uncomfortable._ Noctis thinks that’s silly, but Noctis’s dad is the king and everybody has to do what the king says.

His uncle travels a lot, but he always comes back with presents for everybody  – a stuffed animal for Noctis, a novelty t-shirt for Clarus that he never wears, an adventure book for Gladio and a snowglobe for Noctis’s dad.

And Noctis _loves_ going to his uncle’s rooms in the Citadel. Everything in there is either really old or really dangerous, but there are _a lot_ of pictures. Noctis’s uncle has more pictures than anyone in the whole castle, even the Hall of Kings and Queens where everyone looks serious. Some of his uncle’s pictures are paintings like the ones in the Hall, but mostly they’re just photographs.

The oldest photographs are a weird yellowish color that his uncle calls _sepia._ There are a lot of black-and-white ones, too. Then there are the ones in color, and those have people Noctis recognizes in them – there are a bunch with his dad as a little kid and then a young man, but for some reason his uncle isn’t in any of those.

His uncle isn’t in _any_ of the pictures, at least, his face isn’t. There’s one where Noctis is a baby and sitting on his uncle’s lap, wearing his uncle’s favorite hat and beaming up at the camera.

The reason Noctis knows it’s his uncle’s lap is that he can see the pinstriped pants and the tail edge of one of his uncle’s scarves. And the hand that is settled around baby Noctis’s middle is wearing fingerless black gloves, with a hint of an accordion sleeve just out of the frame.

Noctis and his uncle sometimes play games with the photographs. Noctis will pick one at random and try to stump his uncle with who the person in the picture is – all of the names are written in his uncle’s handwriting on the back of the picture. Most of the time his uncle knows everybody, but sometimes he doesn’t always get it right when it comes to yellowish photographs.

(“The family photographer was a bit in disgrace for a few decades, and spent most of his time in Tenebrae drinking wine and only coming home for weddings and funerals,” his uncle said, when Noctis asked why those particular ones always managed to stump him.

Noctis nodded like he understood, though he didn’t really understand what _in disgrace_ meant, other than maybe the family photographer had tried hiding his carrots under his napkin like Noctis sometimes does at dinner.)

“How come you have so many of them?” Noctis asks, once, gesturing toward the pictures.

“Well.” His uncle is quiet for a moment, which is not something that happens a lot. “I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the term _dark night of the soul,_ are you?”

Noctis is seven. He tries to understand but it’s hard. “Is that like a nightmare?”

His uncle smiles a little. “It’s a bit like that, yes. A very bad one that wakes you up, and then you can’t get back to sleep.”

Noctis’s eyes go wide. That would have to be a _really_ bad nightmare. His nanny says she’s never seen a child who actually looks forward to naptime before. “And the pictures make you feel better?”

His uncle nods. “Yes.”

“But you’re not in any of them,” Noctis says, in the reasonable way a child argues with a grownup. “Except for your pants.”

His uncle turns and looks back toward the very first picture on the wall by the door. It’s the hardest one to see because it looks faded, like someone left it in the sun too long. It’s sort of boring, just a guy riding through an old-timey town on a chocobo. “Ah, but you see. I’m in all of them, and so are you.”

“Huh?” Noctis blinks. He’s definitely not in any of the yellowish pictures, or even the black-and-white ones.  

“Because they’re all our family, dear Noct,” his uncle clarifies, “and we are a part of them, and they are a part of us.”

“Oh.” Noctis thinks about all of this. It’s weird to think about his uncle having nightmares. Noctis didn’t think grownups got those. “So you have nightmares about not having a family?”

His uncle looks at him and smiles. But it’s kind of sad, like how Noctis’s dad sometimes smiles at pictures of Noctis’s mom. “In a manner of speaking. I shall explain when you’re older. Now, do you want to hear the story about your great-great-grandmother and how she almost started a war with Accordo over a baby chocobo?”

That sounds more fun than nightmares, so Noctis grins and nods, then goes off to the find the appropriate picture to go along with the story. This is the other game they play.  

He scans the row of pictures, but it’s pretty easy. There’s not a _lot_ of sepia toned pictures, but most of them are of this one lady --  his great-great-grandmother, who they called the Rogue Queen even though his dad said that his uncle is not allowed to tell Noctis _that_ story until Noctis is ten.

The woman in the photograph has a smile that looks a lot like Noctis’s uncle’s when he is playing cards with the king and Clarus and the marshal. She’s holding a weapon, too, that Noctis has seen before in his father’s armiger, and his uncle’s.

As he picks up the photograph to carry it over, he notices that there’s a shadow on the ground from whoever was taking the picture. The shadow is all tall and weird like shadows are, but Noctis can clearly make out the shape of a hat.

“Very good, that’s her. So, when the queen was a mere lass of fourteen or so, a delegation was sent to Altissia…” His uncle tells the story of a young girl who saw a baby chocobo in the stables and thought it wasn’t being treated properly, and how no one in her retinue would help her rescue it because they were all very boring and proper and didn’t want to bother with something as insignificant as a bird.  

“But luckily for the queen-to-be,” his uncle says, tapping the photograph, “ _she_ had an Uncle Ardyn, too….”

***

When Noctis is eight, he is nearly killed by a daemon.

He is on his way home from a trip to the lake with his nanny  when the car he’s riding in suddenly takes a sharp turn and drives away from the others. Then it stops and the doors are thrown wide open, the driver and another man Noctis doesn’t know standing beside him. There’s a _pop pop_ and then his nanny slumps over, and then rough hands are grabbing him and throwing him out onto the ground.

The two people are arguing, saying things like _just shoot him_ and _has to look like an accident_ and _the ship will be here any second with the daemon,_ and then there’s a loud roar from above and bright lights, like a spaceship in those old movies he sometimes watches with his dad.

The ship opens and out comes a box, and out of _that_ comes something that should not be there, large and terrifying with the head of a woman and the body of a snake.

The two men make a hasty retreat and Noctis is there by himself, shaking on the ground and then there’s pain, and shouts, and the rest of the cars have found them and bright lights are everywhere but it hurts, it hurts _so bad_ and Noctis can’t keep his eyes open, can’t think, and for some weird reason he thinks he sees his mom standing there and how can that be, it can’t be, his mom is --

***

Noctis wakes up in his bed, disoriented and weak. He can hear people arguing – one is his father, and the other is his uncle.

“….should have been there, I could have kept it from harming him –”

“You couldn’t have known, Ardyn,” his father says, his voice low, insistent. “Noctis will recover. And the perpetrators of the plot were taken into custody. The Empire claims that the drop ship used to transport the creature was decommissioned and stolen by unknown parties, but I, of course, have my doubts.”

“As you should.” Ardyn sounds disgusted. “If Aldercapt wishes to play with daemons, then let me be so good as to send him some.”  

“You know what that would cost you,” his father said. “And it’s not necessary. This will be handled. But for now, the most important thing is making sure Noctis recovers. And you know how important you are to him.”

“Yes, of course.” Ardyn sighs.  “I shall attend to Noctis. But there is something I must do, first, and I pray you don’t try and stop me from doing it.”

“And what is it that you must do?”

Ardyn’s voice is very quiet when he answers. “Hunt.”

Noctis’s father says something else, but Noctis falls back asleep and does not hear.

***

(In the early dawn light, Ardyn Lucis Caelum will come striding into the great hall to stand before the throne. In one hand will gleam the weapon of a king long ago lost to history, whose tomb is now choked with weeds and brackish water in some forgotten corner of Eos. In the other is grasped the head of a marilith, its eyes wide open in death, mouth frozen in horror.

Ardyn will throw the head down at the foot of the throne and say _they know now not to harm him_ and Regis will nod, pretending not to see the tears of inky black that make tracks down Ardyn’s face.

For the creature that lies decapitated at the king’s feet is just as much Ardyn’s blood as the prince that lies sleeping fitfully in the rooms above. But Ardyn long ago chose the blood royal over the Scourge, and it is a choice he will honor as he always has.

The head is gone by noon, the gore cleaned. It will be years before anyone tells Prince Noctis what became of the daemon that hurt him.)  

***

“Not all daemons are awful things, you know,” Ardyn says, and Noctis does know that, because his uncle is an expert on daemons. So much so that sometimes he gives talks at the university in Insomnia and even the one in Altissia, and once – though it was long before Noctis was born – the one in Gralea, when hostilities with Niflheim were at a low.

“Like tonberries,” Noctis says. His uncle _loves_ tonberries, is always telling Noctis about how they live in little groups called _grudges_ and make their lanterns by hand.

“Yes, like tonberries.” Ardyn looks pleased. “And the daemon that hurt you, it should not have been here. It struck out because it was afraid. Do you understand?”

Noctis nods. He does, mostly. “I mean. If someone dropped me out of a plane I’d be mad, too. Especially if I’d been stuffed in a box.”

“Yes, precisely. Daemons do not cause pain for its own sake. That particular quality is reserved for mankind, it would seem.” His uncle’s mouth twists. “But I don’t wish you to hate and fear daemons just for being what they are, dear Noct.”

Noctis considers this, then says in a very small voice, “Is it okay if I’m a little afraid of the one that hurt me?”

His uncle gently draws his fingers through his hair. “Of course. It is only common sense to fear that which hurts you.”

Noctis bites his lip. His back still aches, despite all the healing potions and non-magical medicine he’s been given. “Even – even for kings?” He’s not the king yet, but he will be, one day.

“Even for kings,” Ardyn says, and then smiles a bit wickedly. “Your father is terrified of spiders, did you know that? Not daemon spiders. Just the regular ones that scurry sometimes into corners and live in the garden. But don’t tell Regis I told you that.”

Noctis giggles a little. “What about you, Uncle Ardyn? Are you afraid of anything?”

Ardyn leans in close and pitches his voice low. “Well...would you believe...I’ve never been all that fond of dragons.”

***

The next time his uncle visits, he’s holding something in his arms. Noctis looks at it with a great deal of interest. It looks like a stuffed animal.

“Dearest nephew, I have come to seek your blessing on a noble quest I am soon to undertake in His Majesty’s name.” His uncle presents him with a stuffed tonberry. “I have brought this to keep you company in my absence.”  

“Where are you going?” Noctis asks, his eyes wide as his uncle settles the toy next to him in the bed. “Will you be gone a long time?” His lip wobbles. He needs to be brave but he doesn’t want his uncle to go.

“To find someone who can help you heal. And I shan’t be gone long at all, a mere two weeks at the most. And you must promise that you will be very good and rest, so that I shall not be worried about you while I am gone.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” His uncle pats his shoulder and stands up, popping his hat on his head. “Now, this particular tonberry has a rather voracious appetite for stories. So do feel free to regale it with a few of your favorites, and I shall be back before you know it.”

Noctis nods very seriously and wishes his uncle a good trip. When he’s alone, he looks at the little toy. It’s cute with its yellow eyes and the lantern. He has a few other stuffed daemons, too, that his uncle has given him. The first was a stuffed flan, and Noctis is pretty sure that his uncle made it for him by hand when Noctis was born. It’s made of some very old fabric with two buttons sewn on for eyes and a ragged piece of cord for a mouth. Noctis finally had to put it away in a trunk because the buttons kept falling off and sometimes it would lose bits of stuffing.

Ardyn also gave him a stuffed imp that looks vaguely mistrustful and an erishkegal that is too tall and always falls over. Definitely not as cute as the tonberry, but he still likes them all the same.  

Except, maybe he wouldn’t like a stuffed marilith so much. He understands what his uncle said, about not hating things because of what they are. But it was still scary.

Noctis settles the tonberry and his beloved Carbuncle together, and tells them a version of the queen who saved the chocobo and if it’s _him_ instead of the Rogue Queen, well, no one has to know.

***

When Ardyn returns to the Citadel, he brings the Oracle with him.

The Oracle, Lady Sylva, has the power to heal daemonic injuries that regular healers can’t quite manage. She is very kind, and her touch is gentle on Noctis’s back. The pain flares up hot for an agonizing moment before it eases into a dull ache that gradually begins to fade.

“You will likely need a wheelchair for a bit, just until your strength is recovered. But I have every faith that by the end of the summer you will be up and about as usual.” Her smile is so kind, and he likes her very much.

Lady Sylva also brought her two children with her. Her son, Lord Ravus, is eight years older than Noctis and very serious. Her daughter, Lady Lunafreya, is only four years older and she and Noctis get on like a house on fire.

Luna loves exploring the Citadel, and she especially likes the gardens and telling stories. The stories aren’t quite the same as the ones his Uncle Ardyn tells him, but Noctis likes hearing them all the same.

They’re having tea outside in the gardens when Luna tells him a story about his uncle. And boy, is it a _doozy._  

“I could not believe it when my mother told me that the Accursed himself would be bringing us to Lucis.” Her eyes are very wide. “There are many who think he is a myth.”

“Huh?” Noctis blinks up at her. He has no idea what she’s talking about. “You mean Ardyn? He’s not cursed. He’s my uncle.”

Luna pulls out her favorite book – the blue one with the gold writing and the very, very thin pages that Noctis doesn’t touch because he’s convinced he’ll rip the pages if he tries to turn them. “Here.” She turns the book around and stretches out next to him on her stomach so they can read it together.  “This is him. The healer who was betrayed by Bahamut and cursed to life immortal.”

Noctis recognizes the image immediately. It’s the same one in his uncle’s room, the one with the man on the back of a chocobo riding through a city full of waving people. “A long time ago, Bahamut chose him to become the first King of Lucis, for he was just and fair, and well-loved by his people for his healing powers. But then came Ifrit’s Curse, the Starscourge, and the healer-king was faced with an ominous choice.”

Noctis isn’t sure what _ominous_ means. He wonders if Luna knows, but doesn’t want to look dumb so he doesn’t ask.  

She flips the page, and then there’s a picture of a tall, red-haired man in old-fashioned robes resting his hand on the head of a man kneeling in front of him. It’s one of those old-style pictures where people are pointing upward for no reason, but the man _does_ look a little like Ardyn. There’s an ominous black shadowy cloud thing coming from the kneeling man’s mouth and winding up around the figure that looks like Ardyn.

“The healer-king had the power to take the Scourge from those who were afflicted, but at a terrible price. For it meant harboring within himself the myriad daemons that plagued those who had taken ill, turning his body into a host for the selfsame thing he would eradicate from the land. But the healer felt it was his duty to heal his people at any cost, and so willingly did he allow the Scourge to fester inside of him.”

Noctis glances over at her. She might tell different stories than his uncle, but she’s just as dramatic about telling them.

The next illustration shows the healer with black eyes, his face streaked with inky tears and his mouth stained like a bruise. Noctis knows that face. He’s seen his uncle make it before.

“The Astral Bahamut, displeased that the healer would willingly profane himself with Ifrit’s Curse, declared he was no longer fit to be the King of Light. So he instead took his promises of kingship to the healer’s younger brother.”  

The next page has a picture of a dragon, wings spread, a glowing pink crystal rock perched on a pedestal between him and a man who Noctis assumes must be the younger brother. He looks like the healer only with black hair. Like Noctis’s own.

Luna continues, in a booming voice that he figures is meant to represent the dragon god, “I shall give unto thee a kingdom most powerful and prosperous, and a magic crystal imbued with my power so that you may keep the Scourge at bay. And then, in due time, your line will produce a Chosen King, one who will be blessed by my magic and prepared by the crystal to purge the Scourge from our star in truth.”

“A magic _crystal_?” Noctis asks, suspicious. He sniffs. “That doesn’t seem very useful.”

“But the healer’s brother spoke unto the dragon god, and said—” here, Luna uses a deep voice that sort of makes her sound like she’s trying to imitate Noctis’s dad, “I have heard my brother crying out in agony at night, when the pain of the Scourge gets too much. But always he wears a smile when he greets those who are afflicted, and never does he turn away from his duty. This is how much my brother loves his people, and I will not reward such fearless dedication with betrayal. I want not your promises or your crystal, for they come at too great a price.”

“And Bahamut responded to the younger brother, ‘You would reject my gifts, I who am the most beloved of all the astrals of this land, for one who has become anathema to me?’” She trips up a bit over the word _anathema,_ sounding slightly less bombastic _._

“What’s that word mean?” Noctis asks. “Anath-Athena…whatever you said?”

Luna’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t know, but it sounds a bit like _math_ , doesn’t it? So I imagine it’s nothing good.”

Noctis nods in solemn agreement. That makes sense to him.  

“Once again, the younger brother maintained his loyalty to the healer-king, claiming that he would not take a kingship that marked his brother as something to be reviled rather than revered.” Luna flips the page again. The dark-haired man is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking stubborn in a way that seems very familiar to Noctis. The dragon god, Bahamut, is before him with his wings outspread, mouth open in a shriek. It looks very offended.

“And thus did the astral Bahamut curse the healer-king to life eternal, taking away his power to heal and leaving only the power of the Scourge.” She clears her throat and goes back to the dragon-god voice. “So be it. Defend your land with nothing but this man’s cursed gift, and call not upon me when the taint takes his heart and his mind, leaving him nothing more than a husk filled with poison.”

“What a jerk,” Noctis says, frowning. No wonder his uncle doesn’t like dragons. Noctis doesn’t like them very much, either.  

“I know, right?” Luna says with a grin, before continuing. “Thus did the god Bahamut, rejected by the line he had chosen, depart from the kingdom. And thus did the Founder King take the throne of Lucis, not because of Bahamut’s gift but because of his brother’s solemn vow to protect the blood royal at any cost, even eternity. And so he has done, generation after generation, protecting the people of Lucis from the Scourge to this day.”

“Ha! Suck it, dragon god,” says Noctis. “No one needed your dumb rock, after all.”

“Seriously,” says Luna. “What sort of astral would deny a king for choosing to save his own people? Dragons must be quite untrustworthy.”

She flips to the last page, and there is an illustration of a dark-haired man on the throne with a sword in one hand and a crown atop his head. Behind him stands the Accursed, half his face shrouded in darkness, and on his head is a – Noctis leans closer, unable to believe what he’s seeing. “Is that a _hat_?”

“I rather think it’s supposed to be a dark halo,” says Ardyn, who is sitting cross-legged on the other side of the blanket, idly making a crown out of flowers. Noctis has no idea how long he’s been there. “But it does look like a hat, doesn’t it?” He smiles, and taps the dark-haired man with his finger. “My brother, who was called Somnus. He was as fond of napping as you are, Noctis. Look, he rather looks as if he’s napping on the throne, there.”

“Um,” Luna squeaks, her eyes wide as she stares at Ardyn. “Y-Your Grace.”  

“Lady Lunafreya. I apologize for not announcing my presence but you were quite wrapped up in your tale. Your voice for the dragon-god was remarkably accurate, as it were,” Ardyn praises, and gallantly places one of the flower crowns on her head. He glances down at the illustration again. “Tch. I do think they could have tried harder with the color of my hair, though. It’s lacking the true amethyst color, if you ask me.”

Luna bites her lip, looking a bit worried. “I apologize if I should have refrained from telling Noctis this story, Your Grace.”

“Oh, no need to worry yourself, my dear. You did the tale justice. This version is a lot better than the one told by the acolytes of that overgrown lizard, I assure you.”

Luna giggles a little.

Noctis considers his uncle. A lot of things make sense, now. Why his uncle knows so much about daemons. Why he has so many pictures, so many stories, so many books.

Why he refers to Noctis as _my nephew,_ but never calls Regis _my brother._

Noctis shifts a little closer to Ardyn, hoping to convey that he, too, would never cast him aside. Who wants a dumb magic rock and a jerk of a dragon god when you could have an Uncle Ardyn?

Not Noctis, that’s for sure.

***

Lady Sylva, Luna and Ravus stay for the summer. By the time they return to Tenebrae, Noctis is well and truly healed, able to run after Luna and her two little dogs with ease. Sometimes he gets a random pain, but it’s nothing like it was when they first came.

Ravus gives him a stiff bow, and Lady Sylva hugs him tight and kisses him on the cheek. Luna throws her arms around him and hugs him for a long time, then leaves him a notebook and promises that if Noctis writes notes in it, Umbra will bring it to her and then, back to Noctis.

Noctis thinks the telephone would be easier, but he doesn’t say that. Magic crystals might suck, but a magical notebook is probably okay. As long as a dragon doesn’t give it to you.

A few months after Luna leaves, his father summons him to the throne room. When Noctis arrives, his father smiles and introduces him to a bespectacled young boy with a very serious expression. Noctis would think he was a tutor, except that the boy isn’t that much older than he is.

“Noctis, this is Ignis Scientia. He is a very clever boy, and he’s come to be your friend and companion, and, should the two of you form a friendly and mutually agreeably rapport, your chamberlain.”

“Your Highness,” Ignis says, bowing. He has an accent like Luna’s.

It only takes Noctis a few seconds of appraisal to decide that he likes Ignis Scientia. He holds his hand out with an easy smile, offering his friendship in the uncomplicated manner of young children. “Hi. Do you want to come see my room?”

Ignis is serious and clever, and even though he apparently _likes_ eating vegetables, he becomes a seamless fixture in Noctis’s life almost immediately. He helps Noctis with his math homework, tells him what _anathema_ means and likes to read comic books. Even though he’s terribly responsible about things like chores and homework, he likes exploring the Citadel and all the secret passages when everyone thinks they’re sleeping.

When Noctis tells him about his immortal Accursed uncle, Ignis’s responses is a wide-eyed, suitably impressed, “Cool.”

Ardyn promises to teach Ignis old dead languages that no one speaks anymore and tells Ignis he can borrow any of his books. He also points out a few secret passages Noctis didn’t know about and shows the boys a prime hiding place just in view of the throne in case they ever want to see what’s going on without anyone knowing they’re there.

He still misses Luna, though, but they talk on the phone a few times after she leaves Insomnia. But then Clarus says that they can’t do that anymore, something having to do with Niflheim and security, so they write letters instead. But then he gets one from Luna that just says _only use the book from now on_ , and so he does. He’s not sure what is going to happen but after he writes a message, Umbra is just… _there_ , somehow, and he takes the book gently and trots away.

He comes back later, and sure enough, Luna has written something in response. Noctis has no idea how any of this works, but he figures maybe it’s just the Oracle version of the armiger and doesn’t ask.  

***

As Noctis continues to grow, so too does the war.

He’s twelve when Tenebrae falls.

He’s having dinner with Gladio and Ignis in his uncle’s rooms, which he does every Monday night. Ignis has Ardyn check over his Old Lucian homework (even if Ardyn gets scowly when you call it that, because he has Opinions About Language), and Ignis makes them something from one of his ever-growing collection of cookbooks, and Gladio and Noctis exchange comics for the week ahead.

It’s nice. Noctis is glad his uncle doesn’t mind three teenage boys being sort of loud and clumsy, all of them growing into their limbs and knocking into things without meaning to, especially considering a lot of the things he keeps in his rooms are either breakable or very, very pointy.

But then there is knock at the door, and the visitor is revealed to be Clarus. His expression is grave when he says, “The Empire’s moving in on Tenebrae, Your Grace.”

Fear rushes through Noctis when he hears that, and after Ardyn leaves with Clarus he goes back to his room and finds the book. It’s his turn to write a message, and he hastily flips the book open to a blank page and scribbles, _are you okay?_ Usually they send pictures or stickers or even sticks of gum or Triple Triad cards, but this time Noctis just closes the book and waits for Umbra.

He waits, and waits, but Umbra never comes.

Luna does, though, a few days later. She arrives with her brother, brought to Insomnia by Ardyn just like that summer when Noctis was eight. But unlike last time, Lady Sylva isn’t with her.

Noctis doesn’t need to ask where she is. He takes one look at Luna’s face and he knows.

He’s lost a mother, too.

***

“It was awful,” Luna says, a few days later, when they finally escape all the well-meaning adults and have a few moments to themselves. “First they sent an envoy, who demanded that Ravus and I go to Gralea. To ensure our _future loyalty and good behavior,_ the envoy said. When my mother refused, he – the envoy – said that we would pay for our impertinence. But he went away, and she was making plans to send us here when…oh, Noctis. It was so _awful_! There were all these drop ships, and soldiers. So many soldiers.”

It is the first time Noctis hears about these Niflheim soldiers, and how they cannot be human because they fear no weapon and care nothing for their own survival.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Ravus and Mother and I fought them as hard as we could but they – they never stopped coming. And they set everything on fire, and – and Mother – one of them just _shot_ her. Like she was nothing. Not the Queen. Not the Oracle.” Luna starts to cry.

Noctis knows that Niflheim is the enemy of Lucis. He’s known that as long as he’s known his own name, and that his father is the king. But this is the first time he’s ever _hated_ them.  

“Luna, I promise we won’t let them get away with it.” Noctis takes her hand in his, gently, vowing this with all the sincerity in his young soul. “You’ll be safe here. And one day, we’ll make them pay. We _will_. I swear it, as Crown Prince of Lucis.”

She trembles a smile at him. “Oh, I’m so very happy to be here and see you again. Even if I…Noctis, I’m so afraid that when the Empire finds out we’re here, Ravus and I, they’ll send those terrible soldiers to Insomnia, next.”

“Let them,” says Noctis, shades of the king he will become in the dark certainty of his voice, the narrowed gleam of his eyes. “ _Let them._ ”

***

Noctis is thirteen when the Empire sends an envoy to formally request custody of the two Nox Fleuret children. Caligo Ulldor strides into the great hall, facing Regis on his throne without so much as a bow.

Ardyn is leaning against the wall, looking completely relaxed and unconcerned. His hat is pulled low over his eyes, his legs crossed at the ankles.

Noctis thinks of the picture Luna showed him years ago in the garden; Ardyn, standing in the shadows, ever-present at the King’s side. He glances over at Luna, who is hiding along with him in the secret spot Ardyn showed them above the throne.

“The Empire shall ensure the Nox Fleurets safety, of course,” Ulldor smarms. “We recognize Lady Lunafreya’s importance as the Oracle.”

There’s no mention of Ravus’s importance, which Noctis knows does not go unnoticed by anyone – especially Luna.

“Yeah right,” Luna mutters quietly. “He’ll throw us to the sharks before the boat clears the coast of Galdin Quay.”

“And where was this measure of respect when it came to her mother, Lady Sylva?” King Regis asks, expression stony. “The Empire has not set a trustworthy precedent when it comes to the safety and protection of the Oracle. Surely you can see why we would be hesitant to believe you.”

“Lady Sylva was given the same chance to abide by the rules as I’m so generously offering you,” Ulldor informs the king. “But she chose to reject our terms. The Empire does not look lightly upon treason.”

“I was unaware the Empire considered defending one’s home and family treason,” Regis says. “Nevertheless. Lady Lunafreya and Lord Ravus are our welcome guests, and unless they wish to depart with you, I cannot in good conscience sanction this request.”

“That you think this is a _request_ shows how very little you understand of the position you’re in,” Ulldor hisses. “The Emperor offers you a peaceful resolution to this situation. You would do well to take it, Regis.”

At that, Ardyn finally speaks up. “And you would do well to mind your manners. Refusing to use His Majesty’s title in his own kingdom shows how little respect and understanding you have for diplomacy.” Ardyn’s voice carries easily throughout the room.

“I have heard the rumors about you, _Your Grace,_ ” Ulldor sneers, and it’s clear the title isn’t meant to be taken respectfully. “But let it be known I place no faith in superstitious mumbo jumbo. Lucis has long been a land of heretics and blasphemers – I should have expected you would reject this most generous offer of a peaceful resolution.”

“Probably,” Ardyn agrees. “Though let’s be honest, shall we? No one here believes for a second you have the best interest of the Nox Fleuret children at heart. You’re just angry I scurried them out of Tenebrae before you could mow them down like their mother.”

Noctis hears Luna’s sharp breath next to him. He reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing gently. She squeezes back, giving him a brave sort of smile.

“I shall not stand here and be _insulted_ any further! You are a useless king of a doomed kingdom, served by an eccentric dressed like a hobo. When I return to Gralea, I shall inform His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of All Eos, what sort of reception I received. Rest assured, the next you see me in this city I shall come bearing your doom!”

“Would that the gods still bothered to punish excessive hubris,” Ardyn says, examining his nails. “The shine on your armor would have been enough to damn you ‘ere you entered this hall.”

Ulldor’s armor _is_ rather shiny. The sun coming in makes it hard to look at him, but that could also be because he’s terrible.

Regis interrupts Ardyn’s dressing-down to say, “Tell the Emperor of Niflheim that the King of Lucis will not hand over children to be treated like prisoners, and the next envoy that graces this hall on his behalf will do so with terms for peace, or at the point of a sword begging for mercy.”

Noctis feels a chill at his father’s words, as he always does when Regis sounds more like a king than his dad.

“Oh, and Ulldor – be a good little Imperial sycophant and inform your lord and master that if sending a snake to Lucis didn’t get him what he wanted, it’s unlikely he’ll fare better sending common household lizard.”  

Still crouched in his hiding place, Noctis claps very lightly. He’s suspected for some time now that the attack when he was a child was orchestrated by the Empire.

“He’s good at this,” Luna whispers. “Look at Ulldor’s face! He’s so angry.” She pauses, clearly considering something. “If he collapses from a rage-induced malady, do I have to heal him?”

Noctis thinks about this. “I mean. You could take your time on the way down. There are a _lot_ of stairs. No telling what might happen before you get down there.”

Luna puts her head on his shoulder. “I suppose I should be glad my brother isn’t here,” she whispers. “He would have run Ulldor through the moment he made that comment about our mother.”

Noctis definitely doesn’t like Ravus as much as he likes Luna. The two of them aren’t close, and Ravus spends most of his time training with the Crownsguard anyway. But if Ravus actually did skewer the infuriating envoy in the middle of the room, Noctis might try a little harder to like the uptight, exiled prince.

Maybe.

Ardyn is the last one in the room when the audience is over. He stops, then tilts his head up and says, “If anyone happens to be listening, they should know that I showed the king that same hiding spot when _he_ was a lad. And that sound carries in a room as vast as this.” A pause. “So I might want to make haste to my room, and pretend I was there all along instead of spying on official meetings to which I was not invited.”

Noctis and Luna exchanged a wide-eyed glance, then scramble all over each other in their haste to flee.

Ardyn’s laughter follows them.

***

For a few months following Ulldor’s attempt to take custody of Luna and Ravus, the entire kingdom is on tenterhooks waiting for the Empire to descend upon the Crown City in retaliation.

All over Lucis, things are getting tense. The Niflheim soldiers, called Magitek Units, are decimating Lucian forces in every skirmish. It seems like it’s only a matter of time before they show up in Insomnia.

But they never do.

“They look like cyborgs,” the marshal says, when the council meets to discuss the growing threat of the Empire’s army. “Something just isn’t right about them. But we can’t get close enough to one to figure them out. They never stop attacking, and it’s impossible to take one alive. It’s impossible to take one _dead_ , seeing as how they blow themselves up when they’re killed.”

That’s disturbing. Noctis, who usually finds council meetings a dead bore, feels important that he was allowed to be in this one.

“They can’t pass through a haven, either,” Drautos says. “And I thought those just kept out the daemons.”

“Yes,” says Ardyn. “I intended them as safe areas for those traveling between larger cities, which of course have the added benefit of lights to keep the daemons at bay. Nothing else should be affected.” He frowns.

Noctis hadn’t known his uncle set up the haven runes, but it makes sense. Ardyn told him once before that he used to travel much more frequently throughout Lucis before the advent of electricity. Electric lights did more to keep the Scourge from populated areas than any holy rune he could scratch into the floor ever could.

“Is that why they’ve made no move toward the Crown City?” Clarus asks. “If they are repelled somehow by wards and anti-daemon magics…it stands to reason they would not venture close to Insomnia. Our own wards are stronger, and we have His Grace’s particular talents as well.”

“It’s so lovely how you put that, Clarus.  My _particular talents._ ” Ardyn stacks his boots on the table. Noctis’s uncle acts more like a recalcitrant teenager in council meetings than _Noctis_ does.

“Does this mean that the Magitek soldiers are somehow daemonic in origin?”

“Oh, if only someone could easily make their way to Niflheim and find out!” Ardyn sighs. “It really is too bad that no one in this room is the literal embodiment of the Scourge and can pass _anywhere he wants to,_ unencumbered by the – Regis, why on earth are you giving me that _look_?”

“You know exactly why I’m giving you that look. What will you do, Ardyn, if the Magitek _is_ somehow connected to the Scourge?”

Ardyn tips his hat up and smiles. “See to it that this would-be godling and his mechanical army are suitably punished, Your Majesty. Unless you fancy spending eternity under the rule of daemonic robot overlords, and as I am the sole person in this room who will actually _see_ eternity…I’d really rather not.”

“Stop lending him your comics,” Ignis whispers, next to him.

“No way,” Noctis whispers back.

“You will undertake a reconnaissance mission to ascertain what daemonic properties, if any, these soldiers possess.” Regis holds up a hand. “Do not get carried away, Ardyn. I would prefer you bring me back a snowglobe, not an army enthralled to the Scourge.”

“Oh, you never let me have any fun,” Ardyn complains, swinging his booted feet onto the ground. “Very well. If it is information you want, then that is what I shall gather. Though I really must point out how easily I could…manipulate…our enemy’s forces, if they are in fact somehow influenced by the Scourge.”

“That comes at a price I am not willing to pay, Uncle,” Regis says, and it’s sort of funny that he calls Ardyn _uncle_ since Ardyn looks the same age as the king, if not a bit younger thanks to his fondness for eccentric attire. “I know the price you paid when you swore an oath to protect our line.”

“I know the price of the covenant, Regis,” Ardyn says. “And I know what will happen if I no longer have a line to protect. Now, if we’re done, I believe I have a journey for which I must prepare.”

Why _wouldn’t_ his father want Ardyn to control Niflheim’s Magitek soldiers, if he could? Noctis doesn’t understand, and he’s not sure his father has time to explain it.

But he thinks he knows someone who does.

***

Noctis waits until the night before his uncle is set to leave on his journey before going to his rooms.

There’s a new table near the door, because of the recent additions to Ardyn’s photography collection. There’s a photo of Noctis and Luna with the flower crowns Ardyn made them, the day Luna told Noctis the truth of who and what Ardyn really was. A picture of Noctis and Ignis sitting at some state dinner, looking totally bored out of their skulls. Gladio, holding up the medal he got for finishing in the top ten of the Insomnia Marathon last month. Even Ravus is pictured, unsmiling, dressed in his Crownsguard dress uniform.

“You have a question, Noctis, I can tell. Go ahead and ask.” Ardyn is busy putting a strange assortment of things in his armiger that Noctis has no idea why he thinks he’ll need, but overpacking does kind of run in the family.

“I – what did you mean in the meeting, about the price of the covenant?” It’s sounds ominous and official, like it should be in Luna’s favorite book.

“Ah. Well, the Scourge is a bit like an infection, you see. And it has a habit of twisting and changing its host into ways that better suit its dark properties. Given how much of it I carry within in, the dragon god was convinced I wouldn’t last a century before I lost my sense of self to its taint.”

Noctis can’t help but grin. “You sure showed him.”

Ardyn snorts a laugh. “Yes, well. It is the reason why I cannot simply take the Scourge from the daemons. I maintain a careful balance which allows me to keep my own mind. Were I to simply absorb all of it left on Eos...I’m not certain that even my own strong personality would be enough to keep me from getting lost in its darkness.”

“Oh.” Noctis swallows, hard. “Yeah, I – that makes sense. I don’t want that, either.”

“Make no mistake, Noctis. If it comes down to losing myself or losing Lucis…I shall keep your kingdom safe even if it means becoming a mindless beast. Just lock me in a dungeon somewhere and make a proper legend out of me, all right? Toss me a few nubile young men and women every now and then.” Ardyn pats him on the shoulder.

“Uncle Ardyn,” Noctis protests, blushing. “I’m not going to put you in a dungeon.”

“No? Fine. I’ll simply find a nice cave and settle in with some friendly tonberries. I’ll try my best not to hold a grudge if you visit.”

Noctis smiles a little at that. He looks at the pictures, thinking about what it really means that his uncle is immortal. All these people, he’s done the same thing for them as he does for Noctis’s dad, and one day will for Noctis, too – if they manage to combat the Imperial threat and the kingdom doesn’t fall.

Noctis doesn’t want to lose his uncle to the Scourge. But his uncle will lose _him_. Just as he loses everyone, eventually. Not to an immortal plague, but the simple passage of time and the inevitability of death. It seems terrible to think about it. Loving people and then knowing you’re never going to see them again in the Beyond after they die?

“Ah,” his uncle says, quietly. “I see from your expression you are grasping the true meaning of _immortality_. It is both my blessing, and my curse.”

Noctis nods, understanding that in a way he hadn’t, before. “Is that why you have all these pictures? So you aren’t tempted to just let the Scourge have you?”

“Well, I cannot deny that my immortality has seemed too great a weight to bear, at times. But as to the idea of letting myself fade beneath the Scourge, all I usually have to do is think of how smug that damned dragon god would be if I let it take me. Spite is a powerful motivator, never think otherwise.”

Overpacking runs in the family, and so does sheer stubbornness, it would seem.

“The photographs are because, there are times when I deeply resent my brother for the choice he made. When I wish perhaps he had simply cast me aside as Bahamut demanded, so that one day his prophesied Chosen King could bring a peaceful end to my existence. And that’s why I surround myself with the photographs, do you see? To remind myself of what is most important, and that I have been blessed, in my own way, in this long life I have been destined to lead.”

Noctis sees the picture of himself as a baby, sitting on his uncle’s lap. He knows his name is written in Ardyn’s elegant flowing script on the back. He swallows, hard, his eyes stinging with sudden and inexplicable tears at the idea that his uncle might have to one day look at the back of the picture to remember his name.

That Ardyn might, one day, forget him.

Maybe, when the war is over and peace has come to Lucis at last, Noctis could find some way to peacefully release Ardyn from his burden. But selfishly, he doesn’t _want_ to. He doesn’t want to think about being king, about taking his place on the throne, without Ardyn at his side.

“Do not trouble yourself, nephew,” Ardyn says, as if he knows what Noctis is thinking. “I am not unhappy with my lot in life, as it were. Perhaps there will come a day when I am released from my covenant and I will see all those I have known in this life in the next. But perhaps not.” He smiles, a shadow of his usual grin. “But there are many I’d just as soon never lay eyes on again. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe how many utter _pricks_ this family has produced.”

Noctis’s laugh is a little hollow, but he tries. He stays with his uncle until he’s eyelids are heavy and Ardyn sends him to bed, but when he gets there, he can’t sleep.

It’s hard to think about these things, immortality and ancient covenants and the rest. He’s fifteen, and the fate of his kingdom and his father and his family and friends are of a more pressing concern.

Still. Noctis remembers his uncle’s words, long ago, the night he first asked about the photographs and why Ardyn had so many. The phrase he’d used, _dark night of the soul._ Noctis hadn’t understood it, then.

But now he does, even if there’s a small part of him that wishes that he didn’t.

***

When Ardyn returns, Noctis, Luna and Ignis take up their positions in the hidden area overlooking the throne so they can watch.

It takes a bit of time to get the three of them situated, with Ignis being so tall. They wriggle around with a lot of hushed “hey, hey, _ow your elbow_ s,” before getting settled to wait.

Ardyn enters the throne room, and he is not alone. There is a soldier with him, in full armor, with eerie, crimson eyes glowing out of a mask.

Next to him, Luna gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. “That’s one of them,” she says, softly. Her voice is trembling. “One of the soldiers that came the night they took Tenebrae.”

“That’s an MT Unit?” Ignis peers down at the floor. “Huh. I thought…well. That they’d be taller.”

So had Noctis. This one isn’t very big, it’s barely taller than Noctis himself. Maybe it doesn’t matter how big they are, when there’s so many of them coming at once.

“Your Majesty,” Ardyn intones, sweeping a bow. “I have returned from my mission to Niflheim. I have learned much, and I am eager to share with you the information that I have gathered.”

“It would seem you have gathered more than just information,” Regis says, as Clarus, Drautos and Cor all aim their weapons at the MT soldier.

“Yes, well, I thought this was the sort of thing you’d rather see for yourself. It turns out the Empire is using something other than daemonic energy in the construction of their so-called unstoppable army.” Ardyn turns to the MT Unit. “Do be so good as to take your helmet off, won’t you?”

Noctis leans forward. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but he figures that MT Units are robots, right, so probably it will have a face full of wires or circuits or something like they always do on movies.

The MT Unit removes its helmet. It is not full of wires, and there are no circuits.

What is there, though, is a face. A face with fair skin and a shock of messy blond hair, and from where Noctis is sitting he can tell the soldier’s eyes aren’t red, but a bright, sky blue. He doesn’t look much older than Noctis, and he looks afraid.

Robots aren’t supposed to look like a scared teenage boy. Neither are daemons.

“You -- are you telling me that MT Units are human?” Regis asks.

“They can’t be,” says Marshal Leonis, taking a step forward. “There’s too _many_ of them. Niflheim’s population couldn’t sustain an army of that many people.”

“Would you believe that, in addition to finding a way to infuse Magitek armor with daemonic essence, they’ve also figured out human cloning?”

Cloning? Noctis, Ignis and Luna all exchange wide-eyed looks of shock.  

“And the armor is infused with the Scourge?” the king asks, sounding remarkably composed given what’s going on around him.

“No, not the Scourge. Dr. Besithia was working with the research of a scientist – though honestly, I use the term _very_ loosely – named Lucrecia Crescent, who herself studied the application of daemonic energy. Besithia was infusing the armor with the essence of a daemon, which gave it certain properties of strength and resilience. But the key behind the program was the cloning laboratories, in which humans were grown in _tanks_ , can you believe it?”

Noctis listens to all of this, but he can’t stop staring at the MT Unit. It – _no, he, it’s a person –_ is shifting on his feet, and only occasionally glancing upward from the floor. He still looks scared, and he definitely isn’t scary.

“Besithia kept quite a collection of daemons in the bottom of Zegnautus Keep, you see. I’m afraid I became a bit cross when I saw that, the poor darlings, locked up and poked and prodded as they were.”

“Ardyn,” the king says, his voice hard. “What did you do?”

Ardyn gives a theatrical gasp and puts a hand on his heart. “Regis, you wound me!”

“No,” Regis says. “I _know_ you. Answer the question, Your Grace.”

At the use of his title, Ardyn gets to the point. “Daemonic energy is not the same thing as the Scourge, Your Majesty. If the Scourge is DNA, then the essence, or energy, Basithia was manipulating…think of that more like blood. Therefore I was able to simply snap my fingers –” he does so, now, the sound loud “-and the essence returned to those from whom it had been taken. No harm done.” He pauses. “Well. Some harm was done. I’m afraid that as the embodiment of the Scourge, I coulgood not in good conscience let this crime against daemon-kind go unpunished.”

“He’s dead, then?” Clarus asks, cutting to the chase. “Besithia?”

“Oh, most certainly. But that’s really for the best, you see. Dr. Besithia was smart, but he was also very paranoid. He didn’t explain his procedure to anyone, thinking it made him valuable and unable to be replaced.” Ardyn’s laugh is chilling. “You needn’t worry about the Empire’s Magitek Army any longer, Your Majesty.”

“But if they’re not infused with daemons, doesn’t that take away our ability to control them?” Marshal Leonis asks. “Won’t they just send the soldiers themselves after us, and now they’ll be able to cross into the city?”

“Oh, I should think not. You see, I paid the Emperor a visit while I was there –”

“ _Ardyn_ ,” Regis says.

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault his throne room was so accessible, Regis, honestly. At any rate, given the sheer number of angry daemons running about the place, I was able to convince Aldercapt that peace was in his best interest. Likely it didn’t help that I destroyed the cloning equipment and consigned Besithia’s research to hell along with him. The Emperor is a greedy and capricious man, but as it turns out, he knows when he’s been beaten. His terms of peace are somewhere in my armiger. Along with the snowglobe I picked up for your collection, Regis.”

Ardyn smiles and sweeps a bow, hat clutched to his chest. “I thought you might want one. To commemorate the end of the war.”

As one, Noctis, Luna and Ignis stand up from their hiding spot and cheer.   

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stammers out his designation, hears it repeated in the strange buzzing tones of his voice module. “I am a pre-combat MT-designated human, serial number zero-five-nine-five-three-two-three-four.”
> 
> “Hmm.” The intruder reaches toward him, fingers edging along the sides of his shoulder armor to find the switches and buckles that connect the helmet. “Let’s get a look at you, then.”
> 
> The helmet comes off. He blinks in the sudden harsh light. His eyes are filled with tears, his face wet with them. He stares at the intruder, his breathing panicky and loud. He wonders if the intruder will take his throat like Dr. Besithia. 
> 
> “Well,” the intruder says, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t what I expected at all.”  
> ________________
> 
> In which MT Unit 05953234 responds to an all-unit alert to confront a mysterious intruder in the laboratory of Zegnautus Keep, and finds himself embarking on the journey of a lifetime. Which includes candy, train trips, stuffed chocobos, and petting a tonberry. 
> 
> (Or -- how Prompto Argentum leaves the empire behind and becomes Prompto Argentum.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kind comments/kudos, y'all! This is a lot of fun to write, and hopefully you'll enjoy my take on MT!Prompto. 
> 
> I have no regrets about the tonberry scene. NONE. 
> 
> Thanks to @marmolita for the beta, for she is the best <33

Part Two

The alarm is loud and shrill.

 _Intruder detected in secure area, Laboratory A-4_ . _All available units requested. Intruder to be detained with lethal force. Intruder detected in secure area, Laboratory A-4. All available units…._

His troop is not yet designated or modified for combat, and on its way back to stasis for the night. But the orders are clear, _all available units,_ and he does have his weapon. So he follows the others in his troop toward the laboratory. But he doesn’t want to.

Something seems very wrong. Pre-combat MT Units are not sent to detain intruders.

Dr. Besithia, the scientist in charge of the MT Units, is on the ground in the laboratory. He appears to be unresponsive. His throat is torn and shredded.  Standing beside him is a tall man in a hat. He is not wearing the uniform of a human Imperial soldier, nor is he wearing clothes like the human scientists.

This must be the intruder.

“Ah,” the intruder says, when the MTs file in, guns raised. “The welcoming committee arrives.” He sweeps his hat off his head and bows.  

The MTs form a circle around the intruder. There are other troops here and they _are_ combat-designated. They open fire on the intruder, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The intruder doesn’t fall beneath their bullets, and the bullets just seem to hit other MT Units.

For the ones who are designated combat-ready, they have been outfitted with their Service Termination Modules. The modules begin to activate as the MTs bullets strike each other.

He is afraid. The room isn’t very large, and the explosions from the modules activating are sending debris flying everywhere. He doesn’t have a Service Termination Module installed, but he could still be hurt from the bullets or the machinery sailing through the hair. He doesn’t know what to do. Failure to obey orders means he will be recycled, and he doesn’t want that. But if he stands there and shoots at the intruder, he will be struck by bullets and die.

He doesn’t want that, either.

He makes his way over to a corner of the room so he can put his back against a wall. He’s trembling, and he can hear himself making small, gasping sounds under his helmet. He can’t look away from the intruder, who fails to go down beneath the onslaught of bullets.

All the other MTs in his troop are dead on the floor.  He knows they’re from his troop because they just fall and don’t get up again. The sensors don’t trip the Service Termination Module because they don’t have them, yet.

“This is certainly not a very nice way to welcome foreigners to your home,” the intruder says, voice loud over the cacophony. The intruder has a weapon that is glowing red, but it seems to have appeared out of thin air. “In my day, the gods themselves would punished such xenophobia. But it would seem as if the gods do not bother to punish much of anything, anymore.”

He wonders who the intruder is talking to.

At one point the doors open and more MTs come in. These are all outfitted with the Service Termination Module. The room smells bad, like smoke and charred things. He looks toward the door but sees no way to escape. If he could leave this room, he could go back to his pod.

But he would be the only one. And they would know he disobeyed orders and did not fire on the intruder. Then he would be recycled.

He doesn’t move. And he still doesn’t fire his weapon.

“Enough of this,” the intruder says, and he holds up his hand and snaps his fingers.

There’s a strange feeling inside, like something is _pulling_ at him. He looks down and sees his armor is malfunctioning. There is a strange purplish cloud drifting out of it. It’s happening to all the MTs, and in some of them, it causes their Service Termination Module to activate.

“Go back where you came from,” the intruder says, but it doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to the MTs. It’s as if he’s speaking to the purplish clouds, which seem to be sucked out of the room like a vacuum.

“What’s this? Never say one of you was designed to have an actual sense of self-preservation?”

He feels something cold slink down his spine as he realizes the intruder has noticed him, and is moving closer to where he’s pressed against the wall. The intruder raises his hand and makes the snapping motion again. There’s not a cloud this time. Instead, everything just _stops._ The MT units are no longer firing, the alarms are silent. Only he and the intruder are able to move.

He could run, now, maybe. But he doesn’t.

The intruder stands in front of him. His eyes are a strange, bright gold. “You are an MT Unit, are you not?”

He nods. He stammers out his designation, hears it repeated in the strange buzzing tones of his voice module.  “I am a pre-combat MT-designated human, serial number zero-five-nine-five-three-two-three-four.”

“Hmm.” The intruder reaches toward him, fingers edging along the sides of his shoulder armor to find the switches and buckles that connect the helmet. “Let’s get a look at you, then.”

The helmet comes off. He blinks in the sudden harsh light. His eyes are filled with tears, his face wet with them. He stares at the intruder, his breathing panicky and loud. He wonders if the intruder will take his throat like Dr. Besithia.  

“Well,” the intruder says, staring at him with narrowed eyes.  “This isn’t what I expected at all.” He reaches a hand out. “Let me have your weapon.”

He doesn’t think. He just hands it over, watching as the intruder checks the rounds.

“As I thought. You’ve failed to fire a single shot at me. And you’re the only one who attempted to take shelter and save yourself. Why?” The intruder cocks his head, thoughtful.  

“I –” he doesn’t know what to say. He hangs his head, ashamed. “I didn’t want to die.”

“Understandable,” says the intruder. “Do these other MT units look like you, beneath their helmets?”

His heart is pounding so loud he can feel it in his throat. “The ones that don’t have the Service Termination Module are pre-combat approved, like me. The ones who have --” he swallows, hard, “— _had_ the modules, they’re combat-designated MTs. They can’t take their helmets off.” It’s not a very good answer but he doesn’t know for sure what they look like under the helmets.   

‘And do all MTs start off as humans?” the intruder asks.

That’s an easier question. He can answer that one. “Yes. Before they are outfitted with the Service Termination Module and designed as combat-approved, they are MT-designated humans. Like me.”

“I…see,” the intruder murmurs. “The…module…being the thing that caused them to….” The intruder holds his hands up, opening his fingers wide and closing them back into a fist, making a noise meant to mimic an explosion.

He nods. “That is the purpose of the module.”

The intruder sighs. “I suppose I should feel a bit bad about that, but I had no idea. Very well. Now, listen up. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, you can’t kill me. The reason why is a very long story, but if you come with me, I shall take you out of here and you’ll be safe. Do you understand?”

He studies the intruder, trying to process. “Go with you…where?”

“Out of this house of horrors, for one,” the intruder mutters. “Daemons chained and sliced apart to fuel an army of clones.” He shakes his head. “Perhaps the Infernian was right, to begrudge giving fire to man. We take wisdom and do naught but turn it into new and exciting ways to destroy ourselves.”  

The intruder snaps his fingers, but this time it just seems to be to get his attention. “I really can’t leave you here, you understand. You barely look older than my nephew, and if you’ve got sense enough not to fire on something that can’t die, perhaps I can offer you a better situation than the one you’re currently in.”

The intruder does something with his rifle. It looks like he tosses it in the air and it just...vanishes. Like the weapon the intruder is no longer holding.

He decides to follow the intruder because he doesn’t want to stay here. If he’s the only one left, it will be very bad. “Okay.”

“Good.” The intruder puts his helmet back on for him, and that helps, some, to recover his equilibrium. At least he can see better, through the fog of smoke and debris.

“Now. Follow me. Quickly, now, let’s be done with this.” The intruder steps easily over the debris and unmoving MT Units, making his way toward the door. The intruder does move very fast, and he hurries to keep up.

No one else moves but the two of them. It’s confusing but he doesn’t have time to slow down and think about what it means, or how the intruder made it happen.

They walk through the silent halls, moving far away from the labs and the floors housing the MT Units. Only the human Imperial soldiers have access to these floors, because they are the only ones who are permitted to serve the emperor.

They pass a few of the human Imperial soldiers, but they don’t move, either. They’re stopped, too.

They go into a large room where a man sits on the throne. _The emperor,_ he thinks, but he has barely any time to process this before the intruder snaps his fingers, and the emperor jolts like he’s been asleep.

“What is the –” the emperor begins, but the intruder doesn’t let him finish.

“Good afternoon,” the intruder says, bowing respectfully. “I’m sure you know who I am, yes? Excellent. Then let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business. I’m here to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

***

Things become hazy after that.

He’s very tired. His unit should have been in stasis hours ago, but instead, he’s trudging through the snow with the intruder. He’s not sure where they’re going, but it’s away from the Keep. His armor is heavy in a way it’s never been before, and the helmet is more uncomfortable than he’s used to.

Pre-combat MT Units train outside during the day, but he’s never been outside at night. And he’s definitely never been this far away from the Keep.

“That armor seems to be slowing you down,” the intruder says, when he stumbles again. “Are you wearing anything underneath of it?”

He nods. “A thermal bodysuit, sir.” He should probably call the intruder _sir_ since he’s decided to start following his orders.

“Then take off your armor and the helmet and give it here. Leave your boots on. We’ll get you some regular, warmer clothes but we must make haste to the train. Quickly, now.”

He takes off the helmet and then the armor, which is harder than it usually is and his fingers aren’t quite steady. The bodysuit isn’t very warm, but as long as he keeps moving he should be fine. He hands everything over to the intruder, who does something inexplicable and makes the vanish in a sudden flash of red light. Like his rifle, and the intruder’s weapon.

 _Magic_. He thinks he’s heard about that before. Supposedly the targets the MTs fight in the field, they have magic.

He wonders if that means the intruder is a target. The intruder looks like a human, but humans can’t do magic or stop time. Bullets don’t pass through humans like smoke. So maybe it is a target. Maybe this is a test, and he’s failing it because he’s supposed to be eliminating the target?

But he doesn’t think it’s a test. Behind him, in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of things exploding. Like all the MTs with Service Termination Modules are going off at once.

“Oh, but you’re barely a child,” the intruder says, looking at him. He sighs. “Come, now. The train waits for no man – be they the Immortal Accursed or a cold young pre-combat MT Unit...”

Things begin to slowly emerge from the darkness as they walk, hiding at the periphery of the shadows. They don’t stop, but every now and then the intruder turns his head toward them and makes a little noise.

“Ah,” he says, once. “Hold up here a moment.”

He stops. The intruder goes down on his haunches and holds out a hand. “Come along. Come here. It’s all right. I’m the last person on Eos who would ever harm you.”

The intruder’s voice sounds – he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it makes something tight and warm blossom in his chest. The feeling gets worse when he see the way the intruder smiles at the creature that toddles almost shyly out of the forest, making its way carefully toward them.

The creature is small and green, with bright, round yellow eyes. It’s wearing something that looks like a burlap sack fashioned into a coat, and it’s holding a small, crudely-constructed lantern in its hand.

The intruder glances up at him. “Do you know what this is?”

He thinks about it. He knows what a lot of things are, even if he hasn’t seen them before. So it only takes a few moments to come up with the correct designation. _Creature appearing at night._ “Daemon,” he says. _Carrying a lantern. Small-ish, green, yellow eyes._ “Tonberry.”

“My nephew shall be positively envious to know we are so close,” the intruder says. “Do you see the little lantern, there? They say it illuminates the blood of daemons that stains a man’s soul. If you’ve ever slain any of its kind, it shall know. And they hold a grudge, so beware, as their knives are sharper than they look.”

He’s never killed anything. He’s only ever shot at practice targets and he’s pretty sure they didn’t look anything like the tonberry. Still, he hesitates. He doesn’t want to get stabbed. But he likes looking at it even if he can see the knife in its other hand now. He swallows hard.

“Come.” The intruder motions him closer. He’s patting the tonberry on the head. The tonberry is making a little chirping sound.

It’s – cute. That’s a word he knows, at least in context, like he knew the word for _daemon_ and _tonberry._  But he doesn’t know this feeling, the one that makes him want to smile and reach out, pet the little thing like the intruder is doing.

The tonberry moves away from the intruder and toward _him._ He goes very still. The tonberry stares with its wide eyes at him, then lifts its lantern. It’s looking for the bloodstains on his soul, whatever that is, he’s still not sure. Then it lowers the lantern and makes a quiet sound, a little chirp.

“Ah,” the intruder says, sounding pleased. “You have been judged and found worthy. Go on. I believe it shall allow you to pet it, if you like. On the head, but do take care not to rustle or dislodge its little cloak. They don’t like that.”

Very, very carefully, he reaches out and places a trembling hand on the tonberry’s head. This time, he’s not shaking from fear as much as excitement.  The little creature peeks up at him. It’s so different than anything he’s ever seen before. He likes it. He likes patting it on the head. He smiles. The warm feeling makes his chest hurt, but not in a bad way.

“And here are its friends,” the intruder murmurs, softly, when a few more lights appear in the darkness. More tonberries are approaching the intruder. They seem to all want the intruder’s attention, trying to bump at his hand, but a few move over to him.

They all do the thing with the lantern. _Judging him_ , the intruder said. The tonberries don’t all want to be petted, but a few of them do.

Eventually the intruder rises to his feet. “We should be off. Goodbye, little ones.” He says something in a foreign language that’s almost musical, and the tonberries, crowded around him, begin to toddle back into the shadows.

Occasionally he sees a glint of lantern-light in the dark as they walk. As if the creatures are moving alongside them like an honor guard.

***

It’s dawn by the time they stop walking. He’s so tired it feels like he’s going to fall asleep on his feet.

They’re at a train station. The intruder stops a few feet from the ticket kiosk.

“Perhaps we need to establish a story, just in case. I’d rather not create a scene. Now, I realize I haven’t given you my name – it’s Ardyn. Do call me that instead of _sir_ , all right?”

He nods. He hopes he can remember that. “All – all right. Ardyn.”

“And I refuse to call you by a string of numbers, so you’ll need a name. Now, hmm….not a thing to be done in haste, I’m afraid, naming a person. But haste is the order of the day, and we must make ready to go. So I shall call you…Prompto. Yes. That shall remind you to do what I say, and quickly. Can you remember to answer to that name?”

He nods. He’ll try his best. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s pretty sure that if he can’t remember then the intruder – Ardyn – will leave him here. And he definitely doesn’t want _that._

Ardyn buys tickets to somewhere called _Altissia._

 _Altissia,_ his mind supplies. _Largest city in Accordo._ He wonders why they’re going there.

They go into a store before they board the train. Ardyn draws him over to a rack and looks for some clothing for him to wear over the bodysuit. Ardyn hands him a black hooded sweatshirt that says _University of Gralea Sahagins,_ muttering about _does anyone in this bloody empire have the least bit of respect for my poor darlings_ , whatever that means. Ardyn also buys him a pair of sweatpants that say _Gralea_ down the side of one leg.

“We’ll get you something better and less, ah, potentially politically inflammatory later,” says Ardyn. “This shall do for now.”

He just nods, too tired to ask questions, and goes to the bathroom to put the clothes on over the bodysuit as instructed. When he’s finished dressing, he’s distracted by his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes are wide and blurry, and his face is red from the cold and the wind. His hair is a mess, too long, not yet shorn for the procedure that would have attached his helmet permanently to his head. The clothes make him look strange. He’s never seen himself in something other than the bodysuit or the MT armor, before.

“Everything all right, is it, Prompto?”

That’s him. Right. He nods, then realizes that Ardyn can’t see him. “Yes, sir.”

“Ardyn,” Ardyn corrects.

He grips the sink, and he’s still looking in the mirror so he can see the fear flash over his features. He’s forgotten. He can’t do that, or Ardyn won’t take him with him. And he’s scared of where they’re going, but he’s definitely terrified at the idea of going back where they came from. “Yes, Ardyn.”

“Come along then. Time to board the train, and I imagine you could do with a nap.”

That’s a word he knows, _nap._ It has to do with _sleep_ and he _is_ very tired. So he goes out into the store, and follows Ardyn toward the train. Ardyn gives their tickets to the man waiting by the side. The man barely glances at them and then waves them on board.

They bypass the rows and rows and seats, some with people but mostly empty. No one pays them any attention. They move down a few cars and then Ardyn uses a key to open a door, and he sees it’s an entire compartment. There is a bed, a table, and a chair. A window.

“Here,” Ardyn says, gently moving him toward the bed. “Don’t try and stay awake. Lie down here and sleep, and then we’ll get you something to eat. You might want to take your boots off first –”

But he doesn’t. He just falls onto the bed – the first he’s ever been on – and has a moment to notice how soft it is before his eyes slide closed, and he falls immediately asleep.

Usually when he sleeps there are lessons being piped into his pod. That’s how he learns the words for things, how he knows what a nap is and what Altissia and Accordo are. But there’s nothing playing, just the sound of the whistle, and for the first time in his life he sleeps in silence.

***

Something smells good.

He opens his eyes and sits up. His stomach cramps painfully with hunger and his mouth fills with saliva. He glances over to see Ardyn sitting in the large chair across from the bed, watching him. “Ah. You’re awake. I figured you must be very hungry.” He waves toward the table. “I wasn’t sure what you might like. Go on, help yourself.”

He has no idea how long he’s been asleep, and the motion of the train almost makes him fall as he makes his way toward the table and sits in the empty chair. He glances at Ardyn. He doesn’t recognize anything on the table. “This is – this is all food?”

Ardyn sighs. “Yes. It’s all food. I can’t imagine what passed for food back where you came from. A protein bar, what, three times a day?”

“Two,” he whispers. “And a – a protein shake, sometimes. If we’re good.” He wasn’t good very often. It’s been a long time since he’s had a shake.

Ardyn makes a face. “Is that so. Well. Try the noodles, that hot pot there with the broth. I know very few people your age that don’t like noodles.”

He picks up the little pot. It’s warm around his fingers and he brings it to his mouth. He’s so hungry. But he doesn’t think about what it means that the bowl is warm when he takes a large mouthful.

“Oh, that might be a bit—”

He spews the noodles and broth out, his mouth burning.

“….hot,” Ardyn finishes. “Oh, Prompto.”

He stares at Ardyn, horrified. There is – the noodles, they’re everywhere. On the table, on his new sweatshirt, on _Ardyn._ This isn’t the food he’s used to, but he knows you’re supposed to _eat_ food, not spit it out everywhere.

“It’s all right, my, you are _good_ at that sad, lost baby chocobo look, aren’t you? Try something a little, ah. Cooler.”

He’s embarrassed, but he’s so hungry and Ardyn looks more amused than angry. Since he’s not in trouble, he selects something else and eats it. Even with the burn in his mouth from the noodles, it’s good. Better than the protein bars. He had no idea food could taste like this.

He tries something from all the little dishes arranged on the table. Some he likes more than others, but it’s all good. There’s a glass of ice cold water, and that helps the slight pain on his tongue. Eventually he goes back to the noodles, blowing on them to cool them off. They taste good, too. He wishes he hadn’t ruined it by gulping them when they were so hot.

When he’s finished, the motion of the train and his full belly make him feel a little queasy so he sips at the water until it passes. He looks at Ardyn again. He’s not sure what to do now that he’s eaten.His mind feels better, clearer, but that means he starts worrying about what is happening to him.

Ardyn smiles at him. “Now. I should imagine you wish to know where we’re going, yes?”

“Altissia,” he says, remembering the tickets Ardyn bought.

“Yes, that’s where the train is headed. But it’s not our final destination. Do you know where Insomnia is?”

He thinks about it. _Insomnia. Crown City of Lucis._ “It’s in Lucis.” Are they going to the front? But he’s not combat-designated, and Ardyn took his armor and his weapon and he doesn’t know how to get it back.

“Very good. And do you know who lives in Insomnia?”

He thinks about it for a second. “Insomnians.”

Ardyn laughs. “Yes, indeed. And Insomnia is a very big city, with a lot of people. I’m sure that they’ve told you horror stories about it, but I’m willing to bet nothing they told you is true.” He pauses. “Except for anything you’ve heard about the traffic. Then it’s probably worse.”

No one told him anything about Insomnia, or the traffic, so he stays quiet.

“We are going to the Citadel. The king lives there. The king of Lucis. Do you know who that is?”

He knows this information. “The king of Lucis is Regis Lucis Caelum.”

“Excellent. Now, I must tell you, Prompto, that when we arrive at the crown city, people are going to be very surprised by you for many reasons. The main one being that you are human, and that is not what we thought MT Units were.”

Oh. He wonders what they thought MT Units were, then. “All MT Units are human until we are designated combat-ready.” Then they were supposed to be something _more_ . Something _better._  

“And that is what we did not know,” Ardyn says. “Do you know who the Lucians are?”

He nods. “Lucians are targets.”

Ardyn goes very still. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” It’s the right answer, but from the way Ardyn is looking at him, suddenly he’s worried that maybe it isn’t. “That’s what they told us. That at the front, we would engage the targets. And that the targets were Lucians.”

“I see. And did they tell you that _Lucians_ were people, too? That they were humans?”

His eyes go wide. They definitely didn’t tell him _that_. “All of them?”

“Yes,” Ardyn says. “All of them.” He pauses. “Well. Let’s say, all but one. But it doesn’t matter, the point is, I imagine you somehow were never told you were being sent to kill people, were you?”

“They told us we would eliminate targets,” he says, softly. His hands are shaking. Something feels wrong in his chest. The exact opposite of how it felt to pet the tonberry, or take a nap on the bed. “Not people.”

“Of course they did. Send their dehumanized army out to kill dehumanized targets. Yes, Prompto. The people you are going to meet are Lucians, and they are human. Not targets. And you’re not to harm them. They will want to ask you a lot of questions. You will need to answer them truthfully.”

He doesn’t understand why the Lucian humans would want to ask him anything, but he nods. “Is this a test?” Will he go and fight for the Lucians now? None of this makes very much sense.

“No. It is simply the way things are. If you fight, or struggle, or try and harm them, they will kill you. If you do not answer their questions, they will do painful things to make you. So you must do as I’ve said, and answer their questions. I promise I did not bring you with me to hurt you, but you must obey. All right?”

This is all – too much. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, but eventually he nods. It’s easier if he just follows orders. Ardyn’s orders. “Yes s-Ardyn. I won’t hurt anyone. I’ll answer the questions.” He wonders what happens if he _can’t_. What if he doesn’t know something? He starts trembling. They’ll hurt him, Ardyn said. Kill him, maybe.

“Oh, no, that’s the same look as when you burned yourself with those noodles. You may ask questions, too, Prompto. What is distressing you?”

“The questions,” he whispers. “What if I don’t know the answers?” He didn’t know Lucians were people. He didn’t _know_. What if they ask him that? What if they ask him more things he doesn’t know?

“If you say you don’t know something, that counts as answering it. As long as you are truthful.”

Okay. That eases some of his panic. He hopes he knows whatever they ask him. Ardyn said he could ask questions, too, though. And he has a few, so he blurts one out before Ardyn changes his mind.  “Are you a human?”

Ardyn tilts his head. The question doesn’t seem to make him mad, which is good. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“The bullets. The thing you did, making everything stop. The place you made my helmet and my armor go. The sword you had.” He doesn’t know how else to explain it. “I don’t think regular people can do that.”

Ardyn smiles. He seems pleased for some reason. “Clever boy. I am…well, it is a very long story, and I’m not certain you have the background information to understand it. Would you permit me to answer this later? For now, it is enough to know that I am a Lucian, and I think you’ve seen for yourself that I don’t make a very good target.”

A lot of this doesn’t make sense to him, but he files the information away carefully.

_Lucians are people, not targets._

_Ardyn is a Lucian. He is not a target, even if he is maybe not a human._

_Don’t engage the targets. Answer the questions truthfully._

He breathes out, slow and even. He can do this. He can.

“Now, if you’re done eating, would you like to sleep some more? We have a few hours left before we reach Altissia.”

He’s not sure he wants to sleep, but he climbs back on the bed and this time, he takes his boots off. He likes the bed, and when he’s lying down the motion of the train is soothing. It doesn’t make his stomach feel queasy like before.

“Ardyn?”

“Yes?”

He pushes his fingers underneath the tight fabric of his bodysuit, where his serial code designation is inked into the skin of his wrist. “Does everyone in Lucis have a name?”

“They do,” Ardyn says. “And that’s why I gave you one. Because you, dear boy, aren’t a target, either.”

Of course he’s not a target. He’s a pre-combat, MT-designated human. But those don’t have names, either. So it must mean something, that Ardyn gave him a name. _Lucians aren’t targets. Lucians are humans. Lucians have names._ He has a name, now, too. Ardyn gave him one.

 _Prompto._ He turns it over and over in his mind, making it his. “Okay,” he says, and yawns.  

***

In Altissia, they have an hour or so before they have to make their way to the dock to catch the ship.

Altissia is a big city, with so many people walking around that he’s glad Ardyn is so tall. He’s easy to see in the crowd. And it’s hard to mistake his hair, such a bright shade of purple.

He’s _never_ seen anyone with hair that shade before. He wonders if everyone in Lucis has purple hair.

They take one of the small boats called a _gondola_ through the city, via the canals that cut through all the streets. It’s cloudy and there’s a light rain, but it’s warm enough that he doesn’t mind. He’s definitely overwhelmed, though he likes the thing called a _gelato_ that Ardyn gets for him.

Food is way better here. He wonders why they didn’t have stuff like this at Zegnautus. Did all the non-MT-designated humans, the Imperial soldiers and the science civilians, did they get to eat gelato and noodles? Were they eating all of this, taking naps and sleeping in beds, and it was just the MT-designated humans who got the protein bars and stasis pods?

The thought makes him feel like all his insides are clenching up tight. It makes it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s afraid, but with some sharp, barbed edge that makes him feel restless and like he wants to run laps.

_I thought humans who were to become MTs were better than regular humans. They told us we were useful. But then why would the non-MT-designated humans have beds and gelato and noodles? Those things are better than pods and protein bars._

They told him that Lucians were targets, not that they were humans. They _lied_. And if – if they lied, how is supposed to know the truth?

What if Ardyn is lying – about all of it? About Lucians being targets, and humans, about no one hurting him if he answers their questions.

 _What if he doesn’t know the truth?_ How will he know what to do?

“Prompto?”

It takes him too long to remember that it’s his name. He looks over at Ardyn, who is examining a collection of small toy replicas covered in soft fabric.

“Are you all right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain the feelings he’s having, or what he’s thinking. Instead, he picks up one of the toys. This one looks like a creature – _a coeurl_ – but it’s pink and he doesn’t think the real ones are that color. Then again, if people in Lucis have purple hair, maybe coeurls in Lucis have pink fur. “What are these?”

“These are called stuffed animals. My nephew likes them. Although, my nephew is fifteen, so perhaps he’s just humoring me and pretending he likes them. He’s getting one regardless, it’s a bit of tradition.” Ardyn pauses. “Would you like one?”

Prompto looks at the selection of animals. He scans the different types. Some he can recognize, even if they are rendered with strange colors they can’t possibly really have, and some he can’t even identify. His eyes are drawn immediately to a bright yellow thing, which looks a bit like a bird. “What’s the purpose of the toys?”

“The point is that they are soft and pleasing to look upon. So, pick the softest, most pleasing one, and I shall get it for you.” Ardyn holds out a hand, waiting for him to follow orders.

He picks out the yellow bird thing and hands it over. He likes some of the others, but this one is the one he first noticed, so he must like it the most. “This one.”

“Ah, a chocobo. I’m not surprised, considering. Very well. The chocobo for you, the stuffed malboro for my nephew and this improbably-colored pink coeurl should do nicely for the Lady Iris.”

Ah. So it sounds like coeurls in Lucis _aren’t_ pink. That’s good to know.

When they leave the shop with the soft creatures, they ride in the boat again. This time they go to the docks. There’s a small little establishment with tables and chairs, and when they sit, a person comes over and hands them books with the word _menu_.

He scans the menu. This is a restaurant, these are food choices. There’s not one single entry for _protein bar_. He feels a brief flash of that feeling again, the sharp one, and hears that he’s breathing a little too loud.

“Prompto? Is everything all right? I had assumed you can read, is that not so?”

He nods quickly. “I can read.” He doesn’t want to try and explain the sharp feeling so he tries to ignore it, focusing instead on the descriptions of the available food. He decides to get something called _battered trevally._ The picture shows it comes with fries, and he liked those when he had them on the train. 

Ardyn is still looking at him. It makes him feel nervous. Ardyn’s eyes are the same color, almost, as the tonberry’s. He wonders if he should have tried to explain about the sharp feeling. Ardyn did say he should be honest and answer the questions truthfully – but did he mean for him to do that now, or when they arrived in Lucis?

He doesn’t have much time to think about it, because a woman appears, smiling, and asks what they would like to eat. He orders the battered trevally and fries, and Ardyn says, “You should try one of the fresh blended lemonades. The kind with the sugared fruit. I think you shall enjoy it, given you quite liked the gelato.”

He did like the gelato. So he orders the lemonade.

Ardyn, he notices, orders nothing.

***

An hour after the ship sets sail from Altissia, he wishes he hadn’t had the lemonade.

Or the battered trevally, or the fries, or the gelato. It doesn’t taste nearly as good coming back up as it did when he ate it. He is bent over the toilet in the small bathroom of their cabin on the ship, his stomach violently expelling all of it.  

“Perhaps food should have waited until we got to Galdin,” Ardyn calls, from beyond the bathroom door. “It would seem you have a touch of motion sickness.”

At the word _food_ , he bends over and hurls again. There’s nothing left in his stomach now, but it doesn’t seem to understand that. He presses his face against his arm, shaking a little. His mouth tastes awful, and his head hurts. He feels sweaty and hot.

“May I come in?”

Oh. Ardyn needs to access the bathroom. He pushes himself off the floor and slowly makes his way to the door. He wishes he could take a moment to drink some water from the sink, but if Ardyn needs to be in here then he should let him.

He opens the door and tries to move past, but Ardyn reaches out and gently stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Here,” Ardyn says, and presses a bottle into his hand. There’s a straw sticking out of it. “Sip this. It’s a potion. I daresay they never gave you those, either.”

He shakes his head and takes the drink. He’d rather have water, but Ardyn thinks he should drink this instead and so he does. The drink tastes funny, bitter and like he’s eating flowers. But even the first sip helps, eases the churn of his stomach and the acidic burn in his throat. He blinks, and sips some more.

It doesn’t _taste_ good – not like the lemonade – but it makes him feel so much better.

“There’s a good lad. Come, now.” Ardyn leads him back into the room and helps him onto the bed. “We shan’t be on this boat much longer.” Ardyn pats him on the head like he did to the tonberry, then goes into the bathroom.

When Ardyn comes back, he’s carrying a wet cloth in his hand. Ardyn tells him to lie down, and then presses the cool cloth to his forehead.

“There you are,” Ardyn murmurs. Then he reaches up and there’s a flash of red, and a tiny item, red-and-white striped, rests in his open palm. “Peppermint. For when you’re done with the potion. It shall take that awful taste away and help keep your stomach settled.”

He finishes the potion and examines the peppermint. _Peppermint. An herb, and a type of candy._ This is clearly not plant, so it must be the candy. He’s never had candy before. He unwraps the plastic and pops it in his mouth, and the taste is way better than the potion. Sharp and clean.

He’s been injured before – not badly, because if you were injured too badly then you were just recycled. But when he was younger there was a thing called a _virus_ that infected a lot of his troop. It made his nose full up with mucus and his lungs hurt when he tried to breathe, but no one gave him a potion or a cool cloth. They just told him to concentrate harder and breathe through his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, softly. He knows the words, what they are meant to express, but he doesn’t think he’s ever had the opportunity to say them, before.

“It’s quite all right,” Ardyn says, switching out the cloth for another, fresher one. “You might not believe this, but once I was much better at this than I was stopping wars.”

He doesn’t really understand, but it’s all right. Ardyn gives him another peppermint, and the boat isn’t too bad, now, if he doesn’t sit up. The cloth helps. He feels better.

***

When the ship docks, he feels good enough that he can eat the fries and the soft drink that Ardyn gets for him. Especially since Ardyn says they’re going to be traveling by vehicle, now, the rest of the way.

He’s had enough of boats to last for a bit.

While he eats, Ardyn buys him a new set of clothes to wear over the bodysuit. This one is comprised of a gray hoodie with a stylized picture of a sunset on the back and the words _Galdin Quay,_ which is the name of the town. The sweatpants fit him better than the last pair, and they don’t say anything but they have small, stylized patterns that he thinks are supposed to be waves.

He doesn’t know what happens to the other clothes, but he doesn’t ask.

Ardyn leads him down the dock to an automobile that is the same purple as his hair. It doesn’t have a top on it, so when Ardyn starts to drive the wind is loud and messes up his hair. It stings his face a little, but he likes it.

It’s night again. He’s not sure how much has passed since they left Zegnautus. A few days, at least. He falls asleep after a little while, simply because he’s comfortable and Ardyn doesn’t seem to mind. There’s not much to see anyway.

They stop for gas shortly after dawn at a place called Hammerhead. There’s a strange machine in front of the restaurant, in the shape of the stuffed animal toy. _Chocobo rental station._ He doesn’t quite understand. Do you rent toys, here?

He means to ask Ardyn about it, but then he gets to eat _pancakes and bacon_ for the first time and he completely forgets about it.

They get back in the car, and this time, he can see the landscape as they drive. It’s warm here, almost too warm for the hoodie and the sweatpants along with the bodysuit, but he doesn’t know if he should take them off so he doesn’t. The wind helps, and he has a very nice ice cold bottle of water and that helps him from getting overheated.

Ardyn even bought him a bag of licorice, which is another type of candy. And it’s the first thing he’s ever seen Ardyn eat. The licorice is good, chewy and it keeps his mouth from getting too dry.

Usually he only gets water, food and sleep on a strict schedule. The idea of having a sip of water just because he wants to, or a piece of candy just because he can, is so strange. But he likes it.  

“We shall be approaching Insomnia soon,” says Ardyn, at length. “And when we get there, it’s very important you follow my instructions. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to put on the uniform, but I’m quite sure it’s the last time you’ll ever have to wear it.”

Despite the heat, that makes him shiver a little with nerves. But he tries to calm himself down, telling himself _just do what Ardyn tells you. Answer the questions. And remember, Lucians are not targets._

***

When he stands before the King of Lucis, there are weapons pointed at him. He can’t breathe, and he can’t move, and he feels a sudden terror that everything Ardyn told him was a lie.

Maybe the Lucians aren’t targets, but it seems like _he_ is.

There’s a lot going on that he doesn’t understand. Ardyn talks a lot, and eventually the people stop pointing weapons at him and he tries to make himself small, wishing he could go and put his back to one of the walls. But he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to move away from Ardyn.

Ardyn finishes talking and then there’s a strange sound from above – people standing on a little clearing where he hadn’t noticed them, before. It’s a good place for a sniper to hide, especially if he really is a target. But these people don’t have guns. They’re just cheering, clapping, and it makes Ardyn smile even if no one else does.

His uniform feels heavier than it ever has before, and he’s afraid. But he does notice that no one else here has purple hair.

They’re talking about him, what to do with him, and Ardyn is trying to explain that he’s just a human, he doesn’t have whatever “the Scourge” is and that once his armor is off, he’s just like “Noct.”

He doesn’t know what a Noct is, or if it’s bad to be like one.  

While they’re talking, there’s a commotion from the doorway behind them. He turns a little and sees the three people from above are there, walking into the room. Or trying.

“Your Highness,” says one of the men next to the Lucian king. His hair is cut so short that it looks like he’s an MT-designated human about to have his helmet permanently attached and be designated for combat. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be in here.”

The other man next to the king – he also has short hair, or possibly _no_ hair, it’s hard to tell – frowns and says, “It is not appropriate for _any_ of you three to be in here.”

“But I want to see the MT,” says one of them.

He turns around. The person speaking is about the same age as he is, with hair the color of ink and dressed all in black. With him is another boy with glasses who is a little taller and _also_ dressed in black, and a girl with blond hair who is all in white.

He stares at them. He’s never seen people that look like this, before.

“Clarus, escort them back to the Prince’s room. Find Gladio and see they stay there.” The king shakes his head. “Perhaps I need to put a statue in that alcove to remove access.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ardyn says. He smiles at the dark-haired boy. “Run along, Noctis. I’ll come visit you all later. You don’t think I brought back a snowglobe and nothing for you three, do you?”

The boy with the glasses tugs on the dark-haired boy’s arm. “Come along, Your Highness.”

The girl is still staring at him, though. She looks like maybe she’s afraid of him, and it makes him feel bad. He wishes he wasn’t wearing the armor. He doesn’t want her to feel bad. But she smiles, tentatively – at him, he thinks, and it makes him feel something warm like when he got to pet the tonberry.

He tries to smile back.

The three of them are escorted out of the room by the bald man _._ Then they go back to talking about him, and what to do with him. They don’t ask questions, so he doesn’t say anything.

Ardyn startles him by clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Prompto. All will be well. Now, I believe you have a very full schedule today, meeting with a doctor and some engineers, and then after that, Clarus and the Marshal. Do recall that you promised to answer everything honestly, all right?”

He nods. Now it seems like everyone is waiting for him to say something. “Yes, Ardyn. I will.”  

“Prompto?” the king says. He has eyes that look like the sky in Altissia, a strange gray that seem to shift color when the light hits them differently. “That’s your name?”

He straightens. He wants to show that he can answer questions honestly, and if this is the Lucian king then he’s the most important person. “Yes, Your Majesty.” That’s what you call a king, he knows that. “Ardyn gave it to me because he said I should do things quickly and be ready to follow instructions.”

“Did he,” the king says, with a look at Ardyn. “I’m surprised he even understands those concepts.”

“Now, now. Regis, the poor child had a long string of numbers as a designation, it was absurd. And he _does_ move quickly when prompted. So, there you go. Prompto! A rather clever name, I thought. And he _is_ a human, Regis. Don’t let that absurd get-up fool you. He likes fries and lemonade.” Ardyn smiles. “And candy, and chocobos.”  

The king sighs. “He will be assessed as a security risk and treated accordingly. We do not all have your particular talents, Ardyn. Especially my son. You know I cannot simply allow him free reign in the Citadel.”

“I understand, but be reasonable, Regis. Don’t let paranoia make a monster of you. Treat him with compassion and he will do whatever you ask.” Ardyn glances over at him. “Some of Ignis’s pastries would make him a loyal Lucian for life, I imagine.”

The king makes a face. “I did not intend to be harsh with him. But until we receive the emperor’s formal surrender and terms for peace, we are still at war. And he is an enemy soldier. I shall be compassionate, but I am not willing to risk the safety of those under my roof.”

“Do you think I would have brought him here, if I thought him a risk to the safety of my house?”

The king clears his throat.

“All right, let me amend that – do you think I would have brought him here _alive_ , or advocated for leniency, if I truly believed him a threat? You know I place nothing else higher than the safety of House Caelum.”

“Which does make me wonder what you intended, bringing him here at all,” the king says.

Ardyn is silent for a moment. “I have lived a long time, Regis. I know what happens to weapons when they outlive their usefulness in battle. And call me a sentimental fool, but I saw him there trembling before me in fear and did not fancy doing to this child of the empire what they wanted that marilith to do to Noctis.”

The king studies Ardyn with narrowed eyes. “You believe the emperor will destroy the remaining MT Units, even those who, like this one, are still human?”

Prompto startles, remembering the loud sound as they’d left Zegnautus for the train station. Clearly, Ardyn remembers it, too.

“Your Majesty, I believe it was done the moment Prompto and I left. For the simple reason that if they can’t have an army of clones clad in daemon-infused armor, then we can’t, either. Tactically, it is the first thing _I_ would do, were I Aldercapt. Besithia is dead and the war is over. Aldercapt will erase the existence of the MT program entirely if it means more suitable terms of peace, which we both know that it will. He will be in a precarious political position, and what was once the glory of the Empire’s army has become the very instrument of its downfall. By the time the treaty is signed, there will be nothing left of those labs but scrap metal.”

It gives him a chill to hear that. Especially because – what if he can’t convince them that he’s telling the truth when they ask him questions? Will they send him back? If they’ve recycled everyone, there’s no way they won’t do the same to him.

He’ll just have to make sure everyone here believes that he’s telling the truth. He _will_ tell the truth. He won’t treat them as targets, won’t even _think_ it, and he won’t use his old serial number, either.

_Prompto. If you can be Prompto, maybe they’ll let you stay._

***

He follows Ardyn through a lot of hallways, and in and out of several elevators. It reminds him of the night Ardyn took him out of the Keep. Prompto is just as disoriented and scared of where they’re going, but there’s so many things to look at.

He assumes this is the Lucian king’s palace like the Keep was for the emperor. But this palace is not built of metal, and there are huge, wide windows as large as any wall. There are a lot of people here, too. Some are even dressed like soldiers, he thinks, but he’s careful to remember that _they’re not targets_ and he mostly stares at Ardyn’s back or his own boots as they walk.

People are staring, and whispering. He wishes he could take the armor off. He wants to look like he did in the bathroom mirror, in the sweatpants and the hoodie.

It makes him feel bad, sort of, to think that. He should want to be an MT Unit. That’s his designation. But everything is different, and MT-designated humans…he doesn’t want to be one anymore. He wants to be whatever kind gets hoodies and fries and can take naps.

When they finally stop, Ardyn gestures him into a room where people are waiting. There is an older man in a white coat, and a young woman with glasses and bright pink hair – which makes Prompto wonder if maybe they _do_ have pink-furred coeurls here, after all.

Things happen very quickly once they are in the room. Prompto is told to take off his armor and his body suit, and give them to the woman with the pink hair. Her name, he’s told, is Navalia and she’s going to be asking him about his armor after the doctor examines him.

He’s relieved when he’s able to take off the armor, though it makes him feel exposed to take off the bodysuit, too. They give him a paper gown to put on and take him into a different room, where he’s told to sit on a table. This is an examination room. They had these in the Keep, but never ones with bright sunlight coming through a window like this.

“They’re going to give you a physical,” Ardyn says, from where he’s standing by the door. “Be good and do as they say.”

Prompto nods. He’s used to this, and they don’t usually hurt. The doctor and a few of his assistants check his blood pressure and his reflexes, his vision, and take a few samples of blood. Then they do x-rays, and the only new thing is when he’s told to lie very, very still on his back in a machine that is going to look at his brain.

The machine reminds him a little of his stasis pod. He closes his eyes and stays as still as he can. He hopes he does a good job. These orders aren’t too bad so far.

After they’re finished taking pictures of his brain in the machine, he’s given a pair of underwear, socks and some soft-soled shoes to wear along with his sweatpants and the hoodie, since they’ve taken his boots with the rest of his armor. Putting those on instead makes him feel good, especially because he can cover up the designation mark on his wrist.

They’ve looked at that a lot so far, during the exam. Lucian humans don’t have those, so he doesn’t want one, either.

“Well,” the doctor says to Ardyn, after Prompto is dressed. “I can say from the x-rays and the preliminary physical that he appears to be entirely human. We’ll have to wait for the blood work and the labs to come back, but other than never having a patient of _any_ age be that still in an MRI machine…there seems to be no evidence of genetic modification.”

Prompto could have told them that, since he wasn’t yet a high enough level to have any of those. But they didn’t ask him. Should he have just told them? When they leave the examination room, he tugs on Ardyn’s sleeve and asks carefully, “I knew that I didn’t have any genetic modifications because I was a pre-combat MT. Should I have told them?”

“I rather think they would have wanted to find out themselves, even if you had told them.” Ardyn pats him on the shoulder. “But that is good that you asked. Now, you’ll be meeting with the engineers. They shall be tactless and treat you like a thing, but do be aware they do that to everyone and don’t let it bother you.”

He blinks, then nods because it seems like he should. “Okay.”

Navalia, the engineer with the pink hair, is _way_ more excited to talk to him than anyone has been so far. At first it’s nice, it makes Prompto feel like someone is glad he’s here, but she slips up a few times and calls him an _it,_ speaks to Ardyn instead of him, and talks loudly like he might not understand her if she doesn’t.

 _They shall treat you like a thing_. He understands what Ardyn meant, now. And he still answers her questions as best he can, but he doesn’t think he likes her much, anymore.

But he does like her hair. Just not enough to ask about the coeurls.

He’s doing his best to answer all her questions when someone comes in holding a tablet. The man hands it to Navalia, and she scowls down at it, flipping through quickly with her finger. “Is this – is this _right_?” she asks, looking up at the man who handed her the device.

The man shrugs. “Yeah. Cross-checked with the samples taken in medical. It’s organic, human, and definitely not a match.”

“We found evidence of organic material in the armor,” Navalia says, looking over at Ardyn and then back at Prompto. “But it – it doesn’t seem to be from you.”

So Prompto explains how recycling works. “When an MT Unit is recycled, all of their parts are used to make new armor.”

“Ah. The – you mean, the human parts are recycled?”

Prompto nods. “Yes. Because recycling only happens to pre-combat MT Units.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because combat-activated MT Units have the Service Termination Module,” says Prompto, though he’s not sure that’s really a very good explanation. He doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s just how it is.

“Those are the ones that explode,” Ardyn offers. “So one would assume that happens on the battlefield, and having seen it in person….ah. There’s not a lot left to _be_ recycled, if you take my meaning.”

Navalia swallows. When she looks at Prompto again, it’s different than how she’s been looking at him up until now. “Oh. I see. But why do they put human – um, material – on the insides of the armor?”

“I believe I have the answer to that,” Ardyn says. “They were infusing the armor with daemonic essence, and the organic material would give it something to adhere to.”

“What happens when that genetic material decays, though?” Navalia asks. “It would have to, eventually, wouldn’t it? Would the essence be fully integrated into the armor by then?”

“I believe, if what I’ve understood from the things I saw in the lab is correct, that at some point MT Units are…integrated, with their armor, in a certain sense that connects it like living tissue. The energy would then be transferred to that. And the facility was designed for quantity, not quality. Meaning once an MT went to the field, I don’t think it was expected to come back.”

“Ugh.” Navalia sighs and closes her folder. She looks at Prompto. “Sorry, kid. That sucks. Glad you got out before that happened to you.”

He likes her again, a little more. Not enough to ask about the hair, though.

He’ll ask Ardyn later. So far, she’s the only Lucian he’s seen with hair as weird as Ardyn’s.

***

The next people he meets with are the man with the short dark hair – _Marshal Leonis, of the Crownsguard_ and the one who stood by the side of the king – _Clarus Amicitia, Sword of the King_ – who ask him about all sorts of things. Some are things he knows about, like the training program or the layout of the Keep, the latter of which requires him to draw some maps.

Some are things he doesn’t know, like the Imperial human soldiers and the emperor and a lot about politics. They ask him how he feels about Niflheim, and he doesn’t understand the question, looking askance at Ardyn.

“I’m sure he’s not terribly fond of it,” Ardyn drawls.

“Your Grace, it would be better if he answered these questions himself,” says Clarus.

But Prompto doesn’t really understand. He tells them things he knows about Niflheim, the climate and the population and the emperor’s name and the location of the capital, Gralea. He remembers the first hoodie Ardyn bought him at the train station and how it said _University of Gralea Sahagins_ but he’s not sure what that means or if it’s what they want to know.  

He feels tense and unsure when he answers the questions. They don’t look very happy with his answers, either the ones he knows or the ones he doesn’t.

When they run out of questions, they take Ardyn out into the hallway and they’re gone for a long time. No one comes in, so he sits quietly and finally, restless and bored and filled with a growing, sick dread, he takes a pencil and a blank piece of paper, leftover from when he drew the maps for them.

He draws a picture of a tonberry, and the toy chocobo. He tries to draw the little gondola from Altissia, and he draws the big boat that brought them across the sea to Lucis. He would like to draw the Citadel, the building they’re in – he remembers staring up at it, hours ago, when Ardyn brought him here and how it was the largest building he’d ever seen.

But for some reason he thinks maybe he shouldn’t draw that. He draws another chocobo instead. He really wants to know what it is. Is it a daemon, like the tonberry? Should be even be drawing daemons?

He ends up drawing the peppermint candy Ardyn gave him, over and over. Surely no one will think he’s dangerous for drawing peppermints. They’re supposed to make you feel better, so it’s probably a safe thing to draw.  

The door opens again and he looks up sharply, expecting the two important men and Ardyn. But this time it’s just Ardyn and another woman, with short dark hair and glasses. She smiles at him. Something about her makes him let out a breath, because she’s not quite as intimidating.

“Prompto, it’s nice to meet you.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Dr. Savis.”

He stares at her hand, unsure what to do.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s a gesture. We shake hands here, when we meet someone. You don’t have to, though, if you don’t want.” Her voice is kind. That’s what makes him reach out, slowly, and place his hand in hers. She shakes it, once, and then Prompto draws his hand back. “I know you’ve been talking a lot today and answering a lot of questions. So I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few more.”

He shakes his head. He doesn’t mind, exactly, but he’s tired, unsure what this doctor wants and what he’s supposed to talk about now.

“I’ve asked His Grace if we could have some time alone together, and he said that was up to you. But let me tell you what kind of doctor I am first, and then you can decide. All right?”

He nods. There’s something about her that’s easy to trust.

“I’m what’s called a therapist. It means that I talk to people about their feelings and emotions. And I ask the kind of questions where there’s no right or wrong answer, okay? So you don’t have to worry about that part. Basically, the things that have happened to you – from being in the MT Program, and coming here, causes something called _stress_. Do you know what that is?”

He does. He knows things like _stress fractures_ and how much stress to apply to targets to break them by hand, or to buildings or bridges to incapacitate them. He frowns. “I’m not injured.”

“Yes, and I’m very glad. But this kind of stress, it’s not physical – well, it can be, but mostly it’s up here.” She taps the side of her head.

“The – machine where I had to lay still,” Prompto asks. “Did it find stress in my brain?” Does that mean they’ll recycle him? He doesn’t think they do that, but maybe that’s only for Lucian humans.  

She smiles gently and shakes her head. “No, it’s not the kind of thing you can detect with an X-Ray. It’s the kind of thing you feel. Like right now, you might be very nervous. Wondering if you’re going to answer correctly, and worried about what might happen to you. Tired, because a lot of people are asking you to talk about things. And this place is very different from where you were before.”

“I – yes.” He hopes it’s okay to say that she’s right.

“And the reason I thought maybe you’d like to talk to me without His Grace present is that he is part of the things that are different. And you might be more comfortable talking without him here to hear what you have to say.”

Prompto thinks about that. He doesn’t think that’s true, necessarily. He _wants_ Ardyn to hear him answer the questions, because Ardyn told him to.

“Now, I’d _like_ to talk to you for a little bit by yourself, but if that makes you feel bad, in the nervous or uncertain way, then just let me know. “

Ardyn told him to do what the people wanted and answer their questions. Does that mean he should say yes? He glances at Ardyn, again. He doesn’t know what the right answer is.

“I shall be right outside,” Ardyn says.

Prompto can’t tell if it’s okay or not if he leaves, or what he should want. It makes him nervous and he fidgets. He just nods, hoping they’ll take that however they want and spare him having to make a choice that turns out to be wrong.

Dr. Savis writes something down and nods at Ardyn, who smiles at Prompto and says, “If you change your mind, she’ll come collect me. Do your best to answer her questions, all right?”

“Yes, Ardyn.” He’s been answering all the questions all day. He can do some more. Maybe if he does, Dr. Savis will tell him that he did a good job.

The minute they’re alone, Dr. Savis says, “I’d like to start by just asking how you’re feeling.”

Prompto bites his lip. He’s still holding the pencil and he makes himself stop twirling it in his fingers. It’s become harder and harder to sit still, the longer the day – and the questions – have gone on. He doesn’t know what to say, though. If he says he feels – uncomfortable, or that stress thing, she’ll think he wants Ardyn to come back. And that’s not what _she_ wants, and then –

“Okay, I can see this is a little difficult. Let’s try something else. How does your body feel, right now? Can you tell me that?”

Oh. Okay. Yes, he can do that. “I’m…thirsty. A little hungry.” He’s always going to be hungry, he thinks, now he knows there’s better food than the protein bars. “And, um. It’s kinda hard to sit still.”

She beams like he’s just aced a target practice session. It makes him feel good. “Let me see if His Grace will be amenable to bringing you a snack.” She pauses, then giggles. It’s such a strange sound, light and it makes him feel something sweet and warm. “I sure didn’t think I’d be asking the Duke of Insomnia to run an errand today, Prompto.” She winks at him, then goes to the door. When she opens it, he hears her ask Ardyn if it would be all right to bring Prompto something to eat and some water.

“Certainly,” he hears Ardyn say.

Dr. Savis’s face is a little flushed when she sits down. “He just…actually bowed to me. Hat off, and everything. Does he do that a lot?”

Prompto likes her, he decides. She’s not like anyone he’s met before. “Yes.” Ardyn did that to him, too, when they met back in the Keep.  

She writes something on her notebook. She nods at the paper where he’d drawn the peppermints. “I see you were drawing. Want to tell me about what you’ve drawn?”

Oh, he’d forgotten about the paper. He worries he’s in trouble again. But she asks, so he answers. “That’s a chocobo. Uh. I don’t really…know about those. It’s not a word they taught us, but it kinda looks like a bird. I think?” He waits for her to confirm this. He doesn’t want to ask if it’s a daemon.

“Yes! They are. They’re birds, and people ride them.”

“People _ride_ them? No way!” Prompto’s eyes get very wide. He can’t even imagine. He thinks about the toy, the small stuffed one Ardyn got for him. “Are they - -are they yellow?”

“They are! Well, they come in a lot of different colors. Some are yellow, some are even gold – though those are rare – and some are black, which are the rarest of all.” She leans forward. “I’ve heard, though I don’t know if it’s true, that His Grace the Duke has a black chocobo. You should ask him.”

Ardyn has a _chocobo_? Or does she mean another duke? Is there only one duke, like there is only one king?

“What made you draw one, if you’ve never seen one before?” she asks.

“Oh, because Ardyn – he went to a store in Altissia,” Prompto says. “And he got one for me. Not a real one, but a soft toy. He said I could pick one out, and I picked out a chocobo.”

“What made you decide to pick that one?” she asks, writing something in her notebook.

“I liked the color. And it looked…cute,” he says. “Like the – the tonberries.” He pales. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her that he thought the tonberry was cute. They are daemons, and he knows that, and probably he shouldn’t tell a Lucian that he thinks a daemon is cute.

“Have you seen tonberries before?”

He nods, but he tenses up again. “When we left Zegnautus. Some came out of the dark. Ardyn can – he could – talk to them.” He’s suddenly worried that he’s not supposed to say that. What if it’s a secret? But he’s supposed to answer the questions. He just doesn’t want to get Ardyn in trouble.

“You look like something might be making you feel uncomfortable. Can you tell me what it is?”

“I – don’t know. If I should talk about the tonberries.” He looks toward the door. Maybe he’ll wait until Ardyn comes back with the snack.

 _Snack. Small meal eaten between larger ones._ Non-MT Designated humans get to eat so much.

“Well, I know the Crown Prince likes tonberries, and my best friend’s little girl named her cat ‘tonberry’, so a lot of people think they’re cute even though they might be dangerous. Is that what is worrying you?”

He nods. But it’s not the whole truth, and he’s supposed to be honest. “I don’t want Ardyn to get in trouble. Because he could pet them. Maybe you’re not supposed to know that he can do that.” He’s still not sure if Ardyn is a regular, Lucian human or not.  

She smiles gently. “It’s all right. Everyone in Insomnia knows the duke has a, ah, talent for communing with daemons. So did you get to pet one, too?”

It doesn’t sound like she’s mad or that Ardyn is going to get in trouble, so Prompto brightens because suddenly he _really_ wants to tell her all about the tonberries. He does, telling her about how Ardyn said the thing about the lanterns and how they raised it to look at him but decided he was _judged worthy_ , and it made him so happy because he could pet one! And they followed them all the way to the train station, Prompto enthuses, talking animatedly about how they were maybe making sure they got there all right.

“Well, that sounds pretty awesome,” Dr. Savis says, and laughs. “And that’s a very good tonberry you’ve drawn. A very good chocobo, too, for someone who has never seen a real one.”

Prompto beams. He feels – _so good_ , like he did when he pet the tonberry. “I can see things in my head. After I see them once. So if a real chocobo looks like a toy one, then I can probably drawn it.”

“That’s great! I can barely draw a straight line.” She taps the drawing of the gondola. “That’s from your journey from Altissia, then?”

“Yes.” He tells her about the _gelato,_ and the warm rain, and how many people there were in Altissia, and about the canals. Then she points to the large boat, and he makes a face. “I didn’t like that so much because I got sick. I threw up all the food I ate, but then Ardyn gave me something called a potion, and put this cold cloth on my head and gave me one of these,” he says, pointing to the peppermint. He smiles. “So that part was good, but the boat. Ugh.”

“Motion sickness. It happens, and I would imagine that if you’ve gone from eating a restricted diet to –   _gelato and fries,_ that might not sit easily on your stomach.”

She sounds like something he did was wrong, and his smile fades. “I didn’t know. That it was my fault.” Now he feels ashamed, that he got sick and Ardyn had to make him feel better.  

“No, no. It wasn’t your fault, Prompto. It was a thing that happened, but it wasn’t your fault.” She gets up and opens the door, and Ardyn sweeps in with a tray. “You should be careful with what he eats,” she says, like she’s maybe scolding Ardyn. “If he’s been eating nothing but protein bars, plying him with rich foods might cause him to be sick. Like he was on the boat.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been given the lecture by Dr. Juvo about my nutritional planning shortcomings. It’s been ages since I’ve eaten anything, I didn’t know. And I’m basing a teenage boy’s diet on my nephew, you realize.” Ardyn looks over at him, then down at the pictures he drew. “Why, look at that. Did you draw those?”

He nods, a little embarrassed at how many peppermints there are. But he says in a rush, “I – is it okay that I told her about the tonberries?”

“Of course. I did tell you to answer as honestly as you can, and it’s no secret they’re my favorite.” He winks at Dr. Savis, who does the thing where her face turns red again. “There is your snack, Prompto. So I do not get scolded again, I brought you fruit, some crackers, lemonade _and_ water, in case you have bad associations with the lemonade. I’m told you should stick to rice and noodles for meals, but let’s make sure to blow on the noodles next time, hmm?”

Prompto’s face does the same thing as Dr. Savis’s, and he slumps a little in his chair. Ardyn laughs, and leaves with another elaborate bow.

He doesn’t have bad associations with the lemonade, but he does think some of Ardyn’s words are weird, like _it’s been ages since I’ve eaten anything_. He wonders why. He hopes it wasn’t because Ardyn gave all the food to Prompto.

“So I imagine things must be very different than they were where you’re from,” Dr. Savis says.

Prompto nods, nibbling on a cracker. It’s dry, not as good as fries for sure, but the fruit is better and he likes it a lot. “Yeah. Especially the food.” He remembers the feeling from before, when he thought about food. The tight feeling. He wonders if he can explain it to her. “MT Designated humans just got protein bars.”

“Does that make you angry?”

Angry. Is that the name for how he felt, the tight feeling? He thinks maybe it is. “I - I think so. Is it okay I felt that way?”

“It’s okay for you to feel whatever way you want, and I would imagine that might make you angry. Prompto, do you understand that there are a lot of people, myself included – and His Grace, even His Majesty – who are angry about the way you were treated?”

He nods. “Ardyn said they’d be mad because I was human. Because, um. You didn’t know that MTs were people at first.”

“What do you mean, at first?”

Oh. Right. He told the other two men, Clarus and the Marshal, about this part. “Well. All MT Units are MT-designated humans at first, like me. When you are combat designated, you get modifications so that you’re not really human anymore. You can’t take your helmet off, and they put in the Service Termination Module. And I guess that’s when they tell you the truth about the targets, too.”

“The – truth about the targets? Can you explain that?”

He picks up another fruit – _grape, this one is a grape_ – and eats it before answering. “When I was training, my mission was to decimate and destroy targets. They told us when we went to the front, in the field, when we were combat-designated -- they told us that we’d destroy targets there. But they weren’t like our practice targets because they would try and destroy us, too.”

“That – that sounds like a reasonable explanation for war, yes,” she says, and there’s a tight look around her eyes that makes his stomach cramp a little. He doesn’t want her to look like that. Not after she’s been nice to him and smiled so much. “What did they tell you about the targets?”

“That they were Lucians,” he says, and her face _definitely_ isn’t happy about that. He swallows, hard. He’s fidgeting again.

“And that’s not the truth?”

“Oh. No, they didn’t tell us that Lucians were _people_ ,” he explains.

She closes her eyes briefly. He feels terrible that he’s making her feel like this. “What did you think they were?”

“Targets.” He’s trying so hard to explain because he wants her to understand. “Like the combat-designated MT Units. The ones with the modules.”

“And did they tell you why you would be fighting the Lucians?”

He definitely doesn’t get that, because…what else would he do?  “Because that’s what MT Units do,” he says. “Our purpose is to destroy and decimate targets. That’s why we’re made.”

That makes her face go screwy and weird. “That’s what makes us angry,” she says, very softly. “That you would think you were created to kill, and given no choice about it. Treated like you were a weapon and not a person. Especially given how young you are.”

“Why doesn’t Lucis use MT-designated humans?” Prompto asks. So far, Dr. Savis and Ardyn are the only ones it feels safe to ask questions. “Why do they use people?”

“Lucis has an army. An army, made up of people called _soldiers_ who love Lucis and want to keep it safe. But they make that decision for themselves when they reach the age of majority, which is seventeen. No one here is born to be a soldier. They’re just born people, and some people choose to be soldiers – but many people don’t. I chose to be a therapist, because I like to help people.”

He blinks. He doesn’t understand how the Lucian humans wouldn’t get designations, but maybe it’s because they’re _born_ and that’s not how MT-designated humans are made. “What about Lucians who were made, like me? Do they – do they choose their own designations, or is it just the ones who are born?”

Dr. Savis is quiet for a little while, tapping her fingers on the table. “Okay. Let me see if I can explain. In Lucis, children are…created…because a family wants them. And families are made up of all kinds of people – a man and a woman, two men, two women, a man and two women, two men and a woman…there are many kinds. Now, Lucis is a _monarchy,_ and we are ruled by a king. The king passes his title and his throne to his oldest child, so in some instances, yes, perhaps you could say there’s a _designation_ there. But that is not something taken lightly, and it is very complicated because it has to do with the Lucis Caelum bloodline and certain gifts that go along with that. But for most people, Prompto, they’re just born to…exist. To choose how to live their lives. And we don’t have the same technology as Niflheim for, for _creating_ people, but we do use some similar technology to help families have children if they can’t. But that’s not the same as engineering a very large quantity of them at once and deciding who they’ll be and what they’ll do.”

It’s all very confusing, and he has so many questions, but he doesn’t even know how to ask them. “Is a family...like a troop?”

“A family is a unit that takes care of each other. Like His Grace did, when you were on the boat and weren’t feeling well. How he brought you a snack when you were hungry and is very keen to make sure no one is hurting you. That’s what a family does.”

Prompto fiddles with the pencil. “But. Why did Ardyn do that for me, if I’m not his family? I’m not Lucian.”

“Well.” Dr. Savis smiles a little. She leans forward. “Between you and me, I think you reminded him of his nephew. You’re about the same age as Prince Noctis.”

Prompto startles. Noctis – the Crown Prince – the boy with the dark hair who wanted to see him. That was Ardyn’s nephew? He knows _nephew_ , it means _male child of a sibling._ “Is – is Ardyn the king’s brother?”

“Ah.” She clears her throat. “Maybe I should have asked him how to explain this. It’s…complicated. I’m sorry, I know that’s not a helpful answer, but I think you should ask His Grace about that. The point is, he’s not treating you with kindness and looking out for you because he’s your commanding officer, Prompto. He’s doing it because…he wants to be your family.”

Prompto has no idea what to say to that. He feels an ache, like he’s hungry for something – starving, in fact – but he doesn’t know what for. He’s not hungry or thirsty, so he’s not sure what it is that he wants so badly. “But he can’t be. I’m not his child.”

“There are many kinds of families, as I said. A child doesn’t have to be created by the – the people in it, for that to count. Now, here’s something that I have to ask you, and I need you to be very honest, all right?”

He nods. He’s been honest the whole time, because he promised Ardyn he would be.

“Do you want to stay in Lucis?”

It’s strange here, and different, but he doesn’t want to go back. Even if it means all these questions forever, he doesn’t want to go back.  “Yes. Please,” he adds, because it feels like something he should say, so she’ll know how very bad he _does_ want to stay.

“Good! I’m glad. I’m very glad. Now, do you understand that staying here means you’ll just be a person? Not designated to be an MT, not designated to be anything but…well. Prompto.” She smiles.

He tries to smile back, but it’s hard. He doesn’t really know what it means to be a person that’s not designated anything, and he’s sort of just now getting used to the idea his name is Prompto. “Okay.”

“And, this is the important part. If you’re not a soldier, that means you don’t have a commanding officer. But I know you’ve been very good at following His Grace’s – ah, Ardyn’s – orders. Do you think you would be able to do that, not because he’s your commanding office, but because he’s been kind to you, and wants to look after you so that you can live here?”

Prompto will do _anything_ to stay here. And this is not a hard thing to agree to do. He relaxes a little, though he can’t believe it will be that easy. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I will.”

“Excellent.” She writes one last thing and closes her notebook. “Let me speak with His Grace. How about you finish your snack and draw some more pictures? I won’t be gone but a moment.”

He’s too nervous to eat _or_ draw, though, so he just picks up the pencil and twirls it in his fingers again, thinking about what it would mean to be a human without any designation. He could…do whatever he wanted? It’s too overwhelming to think about. How will he know the right choices to make? What if he makes wrong ones?

Dr. Savis and Ardyn come back into the room. Clarus is there, too. And he makes Prompto nervous. He’s not sure that Clarus or the Marshal want him to stay here, not like Ardyn and Dr. Savis do. Will they tell him maybe that Prompto said he’d be a non-MT designated human, and won’t hurt anyone? Will they tell him that he didn’t know Lucians were people?

“Prompto, we are going to meet with the king,” Ardyn says. “Unfortunately, you will have to stay here while we do that. And it shall be a dreadfully long meeting, with far too many people eager to hear themselves talk --”

“Your Grace,” Clarus says with a frown. “Really.”

“What?” Ardyn shrugs. “It’s the truth and you know it. Now, Prompto. I apologize that we have to leave you here for the duration. Hopefully it shan’t be too long.” He waves his hand, and suddenly he’s holding the bag of licorice and the stuffed chocobo. “Here you are. I shall return as soon as I am able. Draw some pictures if you like.”

Prompto nods. His mouth feels dry. He doesn’t want them to leave, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches as they all file out of the door. He has a feeling they are going to talk to the king about all the things he’s said today, to the doctors and the engineers.

They are going to decide if he can stay or not.

It’s very quiet in the room when everyone is gone. He picks up the stuffed chocobo. He’s still not sure what the purpose of it is, but he likes holding it. He eats a licorice piece, even though it’s a little hard to swallow because he’s nervous.

He spends some time drawing the stuffed chocobo. Then he writes the name he’s been given on the paper. _Prompto._

He writes it over and over, hoping that this means he will remember it. Even if they make him leave, even if they send him back to be recycled, it will still be his. Even if no one ever uses it again, no one can ever take it away.

***

It takes a very long time for them to come back.

When the door opens again, Prompto has fallen asleep with his head on the table, using the chocobo for a pillow. But he wakes up quickly when he sees that the only people in the room are Dr. Savis, the king, Ardyn, and Clarus.

The king sits across from him. “Hello, Prompto.”

“Y-your Majesty,” Prompto says, nervously. He realizes he’s the king is looking at the chocobo and has to stop himself from grabbing it and holding it tight.

He hopes if they make him leave, he can keep the chocobo, too. His name and the chocobo – even if it’s all he gets to keep, it’s more than he’s ever had before.

“I want to thank you for answering so many questions, today,” the king says. “I know it was difficult. I know this is very hard, and potentially very frightening.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. His fingers inch out and he curls them around the stuffed chocobo’s leg. He wants to – grab it and hold it, but he doesn’t. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Now. As I understand, you wish to stay in Lucis.” At Prompto’s nod, the king’s expression eases. “Would you tell me why?”

“Because.” Prompto gives in and pulls the little toy into his hands. It feels better, somehow, to hold it. “I – don’t want to be an MT. I don’t want to hurt people. I want to – want to have my own designation. I want to be a person.” He’s horrified to feel his eyes burn with tears. “Who can. Have naps, and eat candy.”

Dr. Savis smiles at him. Ardyn gives a soft chuckle. Even the king and the severe man, Clarus, seem to soften a bit.

“Those are very good reasons,” the king says. “I am sorry if we gave you the impression you were our enemy, when you first came. Do you understand why we thought that?”

He nods. He does understand. “I’m sorry,” he says, gazing down at his lap. “I didn’t mean to be your enemy.”

“I’m very aware of that. And that’s why I am going to let you stay.”

His head jerks up. He blinks through the tears, and then he smiles. “Really?”

The king looks taken aback, but then he smiles, too. He looks a lot less scary when he does that. “Really. Ardyn – His Grace, the Duke of Insomnia – has agreed to look after you.” He places a paper in front of Prompto. “This is a citizenship form. Once you sign it, you won’t be an MT any longer. You will be a citizen of the Crown City. Lucis would be honored to earn your loyalty. Do you think you can sign this paper, and promise to abide by our rules?”

Prompto can barely believe it. “I – yes.” He looks at the paper. The rules are fairly simple. He promises to swear loyalty to Lucis, not to hurt anyone, and to never divulge secrets of the country to those who seek to do Lucis harm. He swears to never raises arms against the king or the royal family, or any other citizen. To bring any disputes before the proper authorities.

There are a few other rules that seem to be just for him. He will obey Ardyn, and learn things so he can one day pick his own designation, and he will meet with Dr. Savis twice a week to talk about his feelings.

“I don’t – don’t have to hurt anyone? There won’t be any targets?”

“There are no targets,” the king says, with another kind smile. “You are, from the moment you sign this, a Lucian citizen and a ward of Ardyn Lucis Caelum, His Grace the Duke of Insomnia.”

He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stop crying. He keeps nodding, even though no one asked him anything. “I’ll – I’ll do all of these things. I’ll be good.” He’ll be so good. He can’t believe it. He gets to be a _Lucian._

“Then sign,” the king says, and hands him a pen. It’s very fancy.

But the place where he’s supposed to sign says _First Name_ and _Last Name._ He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to sign for the second one. He looks at Ardyn. “Um. Ardyn? What’s my last name?”

Ardyn grins. “How about Lucis Cae—”

“Ardyn,” the king interrupts. “It would be in the boy’s best interest that he not share our surname. Do think of another.”

Ardyn laughs. “Oh, fine. Let’s see…Prompto, do you have any ideas?”

Prompto opens his mouth, then stops. He looks at Dr. Savis. “In Lucis, do humans pick their own names?” He wants to do everything like a Lucian human. Since he gets to be one, now.

She pauses. “Ah. Sometimes. But not always. This is a special case, though. Do you have one in mind?”

He looks at Ardyn, and shakes his head. He wants Ardyn to pick one for him, but isn’t sure if he should ask.

“Well, I came up with _Prompto_ , so, let’s see. How about _Argentum_ ? It means _silver,_ in the old  tongue.”

“You’re naming him _Quick Silver_?” the king asks. “Ardyn, really.”

“You named your son _Night Light,_ Regis. And your father’s name meant _Death._ Let’s not cast stones in our lovely glass citadels, hmm?”

“Is that name okay with you, Prompto?” Dr. Savis asks. She seems like she’s trying very hard not to giggle.

Prompto nods. He likes it, mainly because Ardyn picked it out for him. _Families take care of each other._ “I like it,” he says, shyly.

“Prompto Argentum it is,” the king says, and nods.

Prompto signs the paper. His fingers shake a little, and he’s still gripping the chocobo in his other hand, but then it’s done and he’s a Lucian, and he vows right then and there that he will be the best Lucian ever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time -- Noctis breaks some rules and makes a new friend, the war ends, and Prompto rides a chocobo! STAY TUNED :D
> 
> (The nicest thing about canon's naming convention of "type a word into Google Translate and use the best-sounding version of a noun/adjective" is that it makes it REALLY easy to name OCs >>)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not so sure he ain’t dangerous,” Gladio says, grinning, elbowing Ignis slyly. “But I got a feeling that might not be a bad thing.”
> 
> “Gladio,” Ignis says, and sighs.
> 
> Noctis opens his mouth, thinks about Prompto’s shy smile and shuts it again without saying anything. He doesn’t need to ask what they mean.
> 
> (In which Noctis meets Prompto, shares his candy, and maybe gets a little bit of a crush. 
> 
> Also, Ardyn hates microwaves.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay -- for some reason, _I thought I already posted this_?? Ooops. This is why I need to stop having WIPs but I WILL PROBABLY NOT STOP. 
> 
> Anyway a bit shorter, this chapter, because I decided not to do the peace talks/negotiations from Noctis's POV because...I didn't want to, and there's a lot of politics in _You Want It Darker_ so I'm going to have that happen off-screen in the next bit. I'd rather write about Prompto eating candy, meeting Luna, and going shopping with Ardyn.  >>

Noctis doesn’t understand why everyone keeps saying he’s not allowed to meet the MT kid, but he’s totally over being told _no._

 “But why?” Noctis asks his uncle for the thousandth time. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea for Prompto to spend so much time alone with Ardyn. Ardyn is the kind of weird that only he can really pull off.

The kid already ended up with the name _Prompto._ It’s only going to get worse from there if no one steps in.

“Your father is under the impression that Prompto needs some time to adapt to his new surroundings,” his uncle says. “And with the imminent arrival of the peace delegation from Niflheim, now is not the time to badger him unnecessarily.”

Noctis makes a face. “I wasn’t going to _badger_ him. I just thought maybe we could hang out. Prompto lives here now. We’re the same age!”

“I am aware of all of these things.” Ardyn pats Noctis on the head. “I’m very sorry, nephew. You know I enjoy giving you all that you might want, _especially_ when it might annoy your father, but in this case, I’m afraid I must make an exception. I am not to allow you entrance to my rooms, nor is the guard stationed in front of the door to allow you entrance. That’s the king’s edict, so we must follow it.” Ardyn is staring at him. “To the _letter_.”

Noctis opens his mouth to argue, but then – wait. He stops, giving his uncle a suspicious look. “That’s the order? That you can’t let me in, and neither can the guard?”

His uncle nods. “Why, yes, Your Highness.”

Hmm. Wait. That’s – that’s not the same thing as _Noctis isn’t allowed to see Prompto._ That’s _Ardyn or the guard can’t let Noctis into Ardyn’s rooms, where Prompto happens to be._

Noctis smiles. He knew his uncle wasn’t going to let him down. “All right. If that’s the king’s command, then I guess I have to follow it.”

Ardyn gives a little tip of his hat. He looks very proud.

***

“Your Highness, I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

Noctis frowns over at Ignis. He only ever calls Noctis _your highness_ when other people are around, or when he feels like maybe they’re breaking a rule and he feels guilty about it. “C’mon, Specs. I told you what Ardyn said! He practically gave me permission.”

That was maybe a little untrue. But close enough.

“I rather think the point is we’re not supposed to be around Prompto, not the method by which we access His Grace’s rooms,” Ignis says, arms over his chest. His shirt is very starched.

Noctis wonders how he does that. It seems like magic.  “We’re not going to get in trouble! I mean. We probably will if we get caught, but not a _lot_.” Noctis grins. “Don’t you want to meet Prompto?”

At seventeen, Ignis is becoming all too aware of the very adult world of politics and court protocol in a way he hasn’t been before. But he’s still _Ignis,_ and he’s still got a curiosity streak a mile wide and uses the _I’ll just go along to make sure you don’t get in trouble, shall I, Noct_ excuse whenever possible.

“Yes,” Ignis says. “I do. Very much. But do you think we should wait for Gladio?”

“Prompto’s my uncle’s ward, he’s not gonna _hurt_ us, Specs. And Gladio might get stuck. That passage isn’t very big.” Noctis grins at him. “Besides, he’s busy making eyes at that Kingsglaive in training.”

“Oh?” Ignis says, clearing his throat. “Which, ah. Which one?”

“Ulric, I think? Or Altius? Maybe both.” Noctis laughs, but then he notices Ignis’s face and his eyes go wide. Wait – is there –

 _Nope. Not asking._ At fifteen, Noctis has never had a crush on anyone in his life. Everyone keeps waiting for him to have one on Luna, but geez – Luna is _nineteen_ and a student at the University, and Noctis can’t even _drive_ yet. Sure, Luna’s beautiful and smart and fun to be around, but he’s pretty sure she thinks of him as a little brother.

“Well. If we are going to do this, we should go. I have promised to attend the council meeting with His Majesty this afternoon, to discuss the schedule for when the Nif delegation arrives – ah, _Niflheim,_ ” Ignis corrects himself. “That shall take some getting used to.”

Noctis doesn’t want to think about the upcoming peace accord. He’s glad about it – obviously – but it makes him nervous. He’ll have to do a lot of reciting things at people and dressing up. The whole thing sounds exhausting.

Still. Time to worry about that later.

“Then let’s go.” Noctis pulls him toward the door. “You remember where the passage is that goes to Ardyn’s, right?”

“Noctis,” Ignis says, clearly affronted. “Give your future chamberlain _some_ credit.”

“Heh.” Noctis holds out his fist, and Ignis fistbumps back. “Oh! Wait up. Did you get the candy I asked you to get?”

Ignis just _looks_ at him. “Insulted twice in two minutes. My liege has no faith in my ability to prepare for missions. I shall have to resign.”

Noctis snorts. Sometimes people don’t get how funny Ignis is, ‘cause his humor’s so dry. “Right. Sorry, Specs. Okay, let’s go. Remember, if we get caught, I’m gonna do all the talking.”

“I agreed to no such thing,” Ignis says. “Besides, should that happen, you’ll simply stammer and look at me to handle it.”

“Well, then let me do that.” Noctis tosses a grin over his shoulder. “Royal command. Hey, you got the flashlight app on your phone, right?”

“ _Your highness_.”

“Right, right,” Noctis says, and holds his hands up with a laugh. “Of course you do.”

***

The passage is a proper old-fashioned kind and opens up via a bookshelf in Ardyn’s living room. Noctis forgets that Prompto is probably not used to people just appearing out of bookcases, though, and throws open the latch without bothering to knock, or call out, or make any noise whatsoever to indicate the bookcase is about to swing open and reveal one Crown Prince and one future king’s advisor.

Prompto is sitting on the couch, dressed in clothes that barely fit him – they’re probably Ardyn’s, given they’re too big and none of them match – and he’s staring with wide eyes at Noctis. He’s got a book in one hand, and there’s a package of licorice next to him.

“Um,” Noctis says, feeling his ears go hot. “Hi?”

“Hello,” Prompto says, barely audible. He looks almost as terrified as he did that day in the throne room when he first took his helmet off. His eyes are very wide and he’s gone still like if he doesn’t move, maybe no one will notice he’s there.

“Ahem,” Ignis says, from behind him. “Noct. Are we to stand here for much longer, or….?”

“Shhh! Gimme a sec,” Noctis says, over his shoulder. He clears his throat and turns back to Prompto, trying a smile. “Hey. Is it okay if we come in?”

“Yes?” Prompto says, but he sounds like maybe he’s not so sure.

Good enough. Noctis makes his way into the room, wiping at the dust and cobwebs clinging to his dark hair. Ignis climbs out after him, doing the same.

“So that just…opens up, then,” Prompto says, still staring at the bookcase.

“Yeah,” Noctis says, making his way over with careful, measured steps – like Prompto is a wild chocobo or a skittish alley cat. “It’s, uh. A secret passage.”

“Why do you need those?” asks Prompto. 

“Uh. My ancestors were paranoid, and um. Into sneaking around a lot?” Noctis shrugs. Ardyn probably know why. “I wanted to come meet you, though, so…hi?” He gives a tentative wave.  

Prompto says nothing, but he looks, very pointedly, and the door.

Ignis hides a laugh in a cough. Poorly. Noctis turns a glare on him, then cautiously moves to take a seat in the chair across from Prompto. He was so concerned about getting to _meet_ Prompto, Noctis realizes, that he didn’t spend a lot of time figuring out what to say to him once he did.

“So, are you. Um. Liking it here?”

Prompto nods. He ducks his head, smiling a little shyly. “Yes. It’s a lot different. But – but good.”

“You appear to be reading,” Ignis says, showing off his time-honed skill of stating the obvious. “Is it a good book?”

“Yes,” Prompto says. “It’s about chocobos.”

“Oh!” Noctis grins. Cool. He can talk about chocobos. He was worried the book was some kind of instruction manual or…something not in modern Lucian. A lot of his uncle’s books are in languages no one else can read. “They’re cute, right?”

Prompto nods. “I haven’t ever seen one in person, though. Just the – the one that Ardyn got me.”

“His Grace got you a chocobo?” Ignis asks. He looks around, as if he’s expecting one to come waltzing out of the bedroom or something.

Given whose rooms they’re in, maybe that’s not entirely unlikely. Especially considering _they_ just came waltzing out of a bookshelf.

“Probably a stuffed one, Specs,” Noctis says. “Like how he got me the malboro?”

“Yes,” Prompto says, leaning forward a little. “He got me a toy chocobo. At the same place.”

“They don’t have chocobos in Niflheim?” Noctis asks, and when Prompto shakes his head, he thinks about that for a second. “Huh. I wonder why not.”

“Perhaps the snow?” Ignis suggests. “It might be difficult for them to navigate through the drifts.”

“I’m – I don’t know,” Prompto says. He looks sad, like he’s letting them down by not having the answer. His body language looks almost defeated. “No one ever taught us the word for chocobos, so I didn’t know about them until I came here.” He grips the book, like maybe he’s worried he won’t be able to read it anymore.  

“It’s okay,” Noctis assures him, quickly. “Really. We have chocobos here. Um. Real ones, I mean. In the royal stables.”

That definitely cheers Prompto up. His eyes, which are a vivid, bright blue, go wide. “Really? They don’t. Uh. Come out of walls, too, right? Like you did?”

“No, but…” Noctis grins. “They probably _could_ …?”

“Your Highness,” Ignis says. “If Gladio can’t fit in that passage – _I_ barely fit – then a chocobo certainly will _not_. And might I point out that you have yet to introduce yourself properly to Prompto?”

Oh. Right. Noctis is used to living in a world where everyone knows who he is, simply because…well. Of who he is. “Yeah. Sorry. Hi, I’m Noctis.”

“You’re Ardyn’s nephew,” Prompto says, slowly. “The Crown Prince of Lucis. Noctis Lucis Caelum.” He recites it like a dossier.

“Yup. But you can call me Noct, if you want.” Noctis sees Ignis, out of the corner of his eye, give him a startled look. He shrugs. He usually doesn’t like people shortening his name unless he knows them and likes them. But Prompto’s okay. A little twitchy, but given his circumstances, can Noctis really blame him?

“Okay.” Prompto considers this. “Do I – do I bow? Since you’re a Prince?”

“Huh? Oh. Like right now? Nah.” Noctis waves a hand. “Just like, if we’re in front of important people and stuff. But not when it’s just me. Or if it’s just me and Specs, here,” he says, gesturing.

“Specs,” Prompto says, then eyes Ignis. “Is that a short name, too? Like Noct?”

“It’s a nickname, yes, because I wear glasses,” Ignis explains. “My name is Ignis Scientia. It’s nice to meet you, Prompto.”

“Oh. Yes.” Prompto scrambles up, crosses over, and holds his hand out. “This is – is this right? You’re not a prince, too, are you?”

Noctis grins. “He acts more like one than I do, a lot of the time.”  

“Yes, it’s exactly right, Prompto, and yes, I do.” Ignis shakes Prompto’s hand with a smile.

“Do you like candy?” Noctis asks, spying the licorice package again. “We brought some. Wanna show him, Specs?”

It’s just a few things, some leftovers from the Harvest Festival, but Prompto stares at it like it’s a thousand Crowns worth of delight. Noctis gets that. He really likes candy, too.

But he doesn’t move to take any. Just looks.

“You can – it’s for you,” Noctis says.

“Oh,” Prompto breathes, then glances at him. His smile is blinding. “Really? Why?”

“You know.” Noctis waves a hand. “A welcome to Lucis gift, or whatever.”

“I – you can have some licorice. If you want. Ardyn gave it to me, but he probably won’t mind.” Prompto bites his lip. “I don’t think so? I don’t know. Maybe I should ask him, first.”

“Nah. I’m his nephew. He’s been giving me candy since I was little.” Noctis moves over to the couch, taking a piece. “So. What did you learn about chocobos?”

Prompto makes his way over to the sofa, very slowly, like he’s not sure if he should sit there or not. But he does, though he sits far away and perched at the edge of the cushion. He puts the candy on the table, then selects one – a chocolate caramel with sea salt.

Prompto’s expression when he tries the candy is so open, so priceless and so _delighted_ that Noctis can’t help but grin. “Good?”

Prompto nods. He eats the candy and sighs happily. “Food is so _good_ here. Outside of Zegnautus, I mean. There, I only got protein bars. And they weren’t good at _all_. One time I think they messed up and gave us the kind meant for the non-MT designated humans, and those had bits in it that I think were fruit or something? They tasted better than usual, but I’m pretty sure they realized their mistakes and we never got those kind again, just the – the regular ones.” Prompto puts another piece of the candy in his mouth, chewing happily.  

Noctis looks at Ignis, and they both turn expressions of equal horror on Prompto.  “They only gave you _protein bars_?”

Prompto looks between the two of them, clearly freaked out. “Oh. Was I – I didn’t mean to. Eat the ones that weren’t for me. I won’t – I won’t do that, here.” He looks down at the candy, stricken. Like he’s done something wrong.  

“Oh, no,” Ignis says, quickly. “Noctis and I were simply, ah. Surprised that it was all you were given for sustenance. It doesn’t seem like enough to keep a person going.”

“And it sucks that they didn’t treat you like, y’know. A person,” Noctis says, anger sluicing through him. Prompto doesn’t _look_ like an enemy or an MT or something that wasn’t supposed to be human for very much longer.

He looks like a kid Noctis’s age, dressed kinda weird and currently trying to eat his weight in candy. So. Totally normal. “Hey. It’s okay. Really. You can eat _all_ the protein bars here. We can get you – any of them that you want. With whatever you want in them. Right, Iggy?”

“I rather think he might wish to try all the other food available that is infinitely more enjoyable than protein bars,” Ignis says, a bit wryly. “But there are some granola bars that are rather tasty.”

“And cookie bars,” Noctis adds. “Those are better, ‘cause they don’t have healthy stuff in them.”

Prompto smiles a little. “Oh. Okay.”

“Try the Cactuar Sours,” Noctis suggests, pointing to a bright yellow package. “Just, watch out. They’re really sour. I mean, _really_ sour. Only like, one in four people like them.”

Prompto opens the bag and carefully selects one of the little green candies. He pops it in his mouth, and the look on his face makes Noctis laugh. “Told you!”

Prompto smiles a little weakly, clearly girds himself to eat another one, and does so. Its’s obvious he doesn’t like them, and for a moment Noctis wonders why he’s still eating them.

 _You told him to. He used to be an MT. Maybe he thinks he has to._ “Uh. You don’t have to eat any more of them. Honestly, I can only ever eat like, two. They kinda burn my tongue.”

The package of Cactaur Sours is gratefully pushed aside. “If you – if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. The point of candy is you’re supposed to like it. So if you don’t, you don’t have to eat it. Actually,” Noctis says, gearing up, “that should be true about all food, really. Especially _vegetables_.” He gives Ignis a look. Ignis, who not only likes vegetables, but includes them when he tries cooking things _even though he knows Noctis hates them._ Treason.

Ignis appears unimpressed. “You’ll eat them if they somehow involve cheese sauce.”

“Well, duh. ‘Cause cheese sauce.” Noctis sees Prompto watching the two of them, nervously. His fingers are curled around a bag of Blizzara Bites. “Oh, try those. They’re good. Not sour, I promise,” he says, when Prompto looks as if maybe he doesn’t quite trust him.

Prompto tries one, and his eyes light up. “Oh! Yes. I know this taste. It’s peppermint.” He stares down at the candy. “I had that before. On the ship. Because my stomach was sick. But it didn’t taste like this.”

“Oh, yeah, if Uncle Ardyn gave you one, probably not. Those are like, peppermint cream. With dark chocolate. Good, right?”

Prompto nods. “Yes.” He says, a little shyly, like maybe he’s not sure if he’s allowed to share his opinion of the candy, or even have one in the first place. “These are. Better than the sour ones.”

“Definitely,” says Noctis, and is pleased when Prompto smiles at him.

They talk about candy for a little while, and Prompto tries a few more things – he likes the chocolate kinds the best, Noctis notices –and then they talk about chocobos again. Prompto becomes more animated, telling him and Ignis about what he learned in his book and showing pictures.

“When it’s – uh, when it’s okay, we can go see them in the stables,” Noctis says. “You can ride mine.  Her name’s Timber, she’s pretty gentle.”

Prompto’s eyes go as wide as soup bowls. “I could ride one? Really? What if – what if I fall off?”

Noctis shrugs. “It happens. You just get back up again.”

“That’s why Noct’s bird is called Timber,” Ignis says, and laughs. “Though honestly, I think the name is due more to His Highness’s skill in the saddle – or lack thereof – than any shortcomings on the bird’s fault.”

“Ha, ha,” Noctis says, but okay, that’s kind of true and he laughs despite himself.

It takes Prompto a minute to get it, but then he says, “Oh! Timber. To fall down. Yes, I get it.” Then he laughs, too. It’s a nice sound, bright and happy if a little rusty – like he’s not sure how to make the sound, and honestly looks a little surprised when he does.

“Your Highness, we should be getting back,” Ignis says, after a little while. “I do have the council meeting to attend, and you have homework.”

Ugh. He’d rather talk about chocobos and eat candy with Prompto any day. But he did promise that if Ignis came with him, they’d get back in time. So he gets up and says, “You can keep the candy. And remember. You don’t have to eat the Cactuar Sours, okay?”

“Okay,” says Prompto.

Noctis grins slyly. “But you should _definitely_ give one to Uncle Ardyn.”

“Noctis,” Ignis chides, but he’s grinning, too. “Recall what happened the time you gave him that package of Ragnapop Rocks and he threatened to feed you to a mindflayer.”

“I don’t know why he was so surprised,” Noctis says, snorting with laughter at the memory. “The part where they pop is literally right there in the name.”

_Noctis, being infected with literal daemons is less horrifying than this candy._

Noctis stands up and stretches. “Hey, want me to come back tomorrow?” Noctis says it casually, but he really hopes Prompto says _yes._ Prompto doesn’t look at him like a lot of other kids do, like maybe they just want to be friends with him because he’s the Prince. Prompto just looks like he wants to talk about chocobos and eat candy, and Noctis figures if he shows Prompto all about mobile games, they’ll be all set.

Prompto nods, and Noctis grins, and that’s that.

They disappear through the passageway after a final wave and make their way back to Noctis’s rooms. When they get there, Noctis turns to Ignis expectantly. “See? That was fine. He’s not some kind of killer robot. Just a kid who doesn’t know what candy is.”

“Yes,” Ignis says, and he’s giving Noctis his _thoughtful_ look.  

Noctis’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What?”

“I’m agreeing with you. He is most certainly not a killer robot, and he did indeed not know what candy was. Though you really should never give anyone Cactuar Sours if you want to be friends with them.”

“My dad told me once they were my mom’s favorite,” Noctis says, shrugging. “She was that one-in-four, though I guess she didn’t pass that on to me. What? You’re still giving me that look.”

“I’m simply surprised, that’s all,” Ignis says, a bit carefully.

Noctis frowns. “That Prompto wasn’t a killer robot?”

“No, I’m…mostly surprised about _you_ , Noct. You don’t…ah. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re usually a bit more reserved around strangers. Especially ones your own age.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t with you.”

“I know,” Ignis says, gently. “And it surprised His Majesty, as well, when you and I became friends so quickly.”

“I mean.” Noctis shrugs. His face is hot, but he’s not sure why. “You’re pretty easy to like, Iggy.” He follows that up quickly with, “And I mean. You make me, like, cupcakes when I get a good grade on a test and stuff.”

Ignis smiles at him. “Thank you. And I of course think the same about you, Noct, and am pleased to hear you appreciate the pastries as I most certainly appreciate your good grades. But you were very…astute, at reading Prompto’s reactions.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re kinda surprised that I could pay attention to someone who wasn’t me?” Now _Ignis’s_ face turns hot. Noctis grins at his friend and jabs him in the side with his elbow. “It’s cool, Iggy. I get it.” He really _doesn’t_ make friends easy.   

Ignis smiles at him. “I have to say I’m most interested in being there when Prompto first sees a chocobo.”

“Right?” Noctis laughs, and then watches as Ignis goes to make himself look presentable in the bathroom – not that he ever doesn’t, but when he comes back, everything is neat and tucked in and there aren’t any bits of dust or debris from their trip through the passageways clinging to his person. “Hey, Specs. Thanks. For going with me.”

He knows that Ignis doesn’t mind breaking _some_ rules, but direct orders from the king _and_ the duke, that’s probably pushing it. But Ignis just smiles, and nods, and reminds Noctis about the essay he is supposed to work on while Ignis is in the council meeting.

Noctis sighs and settles down to do his homework. His essay is on some boring old Lucian trade law that makes him wish he _was_ in the council meeting with Iggy – at least that’ll be about the upcoming peace treaty, which is way more interesting than stuff about tariffs on luxury goods.

Wait. Does candy count as a luxury good? Can he write his essay on _that_?

Noctis is so involved in researching his chosen topic that it doesn’t occur to him until later that he probably shouldn’t have told Prompto to give his uncle a Cactuar Sour, since it will let Ardyn know that he was there. He thinks about finding some way to contact Prompto and swear him to secrecy about their visit, but the thought of going through the passageway without Iggy there is daunting.

Noctis isn’t _scared_ , he’s just…tired. Yeah. That’s it.

Besides. It’s not like Ardyn can get him in trouble, right? The whole passageway thing was his idea. It’ll be fine.

***

Noctis sits next to Ignis in his father’s office, facing the king across his imposing wooden desk and trying not to slouch in his chair. Clarus and his uncle are both standing beside the king. Clarus looks serious, as usual. Ardyn looks amused, also as usual.

“I believe that my instructions were quite clear,” the king says, aiming a severe look at his son. “I’m disappointed in you, Noctis, that you would disobey me when it comes to something so important.” He gives Ignis the same look.

“It was my idea,” Noctis says, immediately, because he doesn’t even need to look at Iggy to feel him deflating like a balloon under the censure. “I made Ignis come with me.”

“Ignis is perfectly capable of reminding you when things are detrimental to your safety, or, as it happens, violating a rule put in place for the safety of _both_ of you,” Clarus says. Gladio and Iris both take after their mother, looks-wise, but wow, Gladio sure got that disapproving, severe look from his dad. 

“He did remind me,” Noctis says, not wanting Ignis to get in trouble.  

“Apparently not,” says Regis.

Ignis makes a sound like he’s been sentenced to a drawn-out, painful execution at dawn. He hates disappointing people, Noctis knows that. And Noctis…well. The king is the king, but he’s also Noctis’s _dad._ Noctis is a teenager. He’s supposed to be rebellious, isn’t he? Just a little?

But he knows the king isn’t Ignis’s dad, so he says, “I ordered him –”

“No, Your Majesty,” Ignis interrupts. “I agreed to go along with His Highness. He most certainly did not _order_ me.”

Noctis sighs. He _tried._ He kicks his feet against the floor. “Just. It really was my idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure I know whose idea it was,” Regis says, and turns toward Ardyn. Both he _and_ Clarus are giving Ardyn the Disapproving Face.

“I changed both your _diapers_ ,” Ardyn informs them. “That look will not work on me. And come along, now. It’s a secret passage that emerges into a _bookcase_ , Regis. I recall showing you when you were a child --”

“The point is,” Regis interrupts, “I expected better from both of you. Especially given the situation, and the stress it is placing upon the kingdom. I need you to be a help and an asset to your country, Prince Noctis. Not creeping through passageways, putting yourself in danger.”

“We had candy and talked about chocobos!” Noctis protests. He usually doesn’t talk back, this still seems like a lot of overreaction to something that’s not that big of a deal to him. Suddenly he’s worried that maybe he got _Prompto_ in trouble – and what if this means they’ll send him back to Niflheim? “You know Prompto didn’t ask me to, right? Visiting him was my idea, and Prompto didn’t even…you’re not going to…”

“Nothing is going to happen to Prompto,” the king says, gently, and there’s something soft in his eyes that lets Noctis know his father is mad, but not _that_ mad. “He isn’t the one who disobeyed. Do you understand that my concern is not about Prompto being a threat, but the situation in which we now find ourselves? We are very soon to host foreign dignitaries from a nation with whom we have spent _eons_ engaged in hostilities, Noctis. Don’t you think that I, as your father and the king of Lucis, might want to know that my son and only heir is safe accounted for? That the kingdom will want to know their prince is safe? I know we try very hard to remind you that you are a person and not a title, my son. But to the people, you are a symbol of a future and a peace that they never thought they’d see.”

Noctis feels a little bad, because he hadn’t really considered any of that. Even if it sounds a little like an excuse to him, because…honestly, he was _in his uncle’s room._ He bows his head. “I – I’m sorry, Dad. Er.” He sits up straighter. “Your Majesty. I didn’t think about it that way.” That’s true enough.

Ardyn sighs. “Nor did I. I confess, I thought you were being a stodgy old man about this, and perhaps…I won’t say I _suggested_ Noctis use the passage –”

Noctis shoots his uncle a look of betrayal, because that’s pretty much exactly what he did.

“All right, I _highly implied it_ via a clever wink and a tip of the hat. My apologies.”

Regis glances over at Clarus. “Have the scribes record this momentous occasion along with the forthcoming treaty. Ardyn Lucis Caelum, Duke of Insomnia, Apologizes For Something.”

Noctis snorts, and his uncle shrugs his careless shrug, and Clarus looks a bit like he’s not sure if Regis is serious about calling the scribes or not.

“Though honestly, there are few places safer for Noctis than my quarters,” Ardyn says. “Given the wards and spells designed to eviscerate or daemonify any uninvited guests who may mean me or my family harm.”

There’s a very long moment of silence.

“Your Grace,” Clarus says, at last. “Are you – is that true? You have those?”

Ardyn smiles. “Would I ever lie about booby traps and magic, Clarus? No. No, I would not.”

“You might have mentioned that before,” Regis says, sounding very tired.

Ignis and Noctis exchange glances. Noctis knows an opening when he sees one, and Ignis, too much a strategist to let it pass, gives Noctis a Significant Look.  

Noctis says, “If it’s really that safe…does that mean I can visit Prompto again? I told him I would, and I should keep my promises to, ah, my people. My friends. Right?”

Ignis, next to him, is trying his level best to balance both contrition and pride. 

“The boy does need to interact with others,” Ardyn says. “It did seem to do him a world of good, having people his own age around. Apparently an under-socialized teenager who was conditioned to believe he is a soulless robot should not spend all his time with an immortal who refuses to use a microwave oven out of sheer spite.”

“At least you finally admit that’s what it is,” Regis mutters. 

“How’d you heat up those Cup Noodle that Gladio brought you for Prompto?” Clarus asks. “You know you can’t put Styrofoam in the oven, Your Grace…ah. Right?”

Ardyn waves a hand, which shimmers with fire. “Like this.”

Noctis’s eyes go wide.

Clarus _sighs_. “Do the booby traps inhibit fire that also tries to destroy you and your family?”

“Of course,” says Ardyn.

Noctis and Prompto glance between the three most powerful men in Lucis like they’re watching a blitzball match.

“Even if the fire is _yours_?”

“Ah,” says Ardyn. “I shall have to check when I’m home.” He shrugs. “Prompto cannot summon fire, but he’s learned to make his own Cup Noodle with the matches and the kettle…what?”

“I think perhaps at this point, supervised visits with His Highness, Ignis and Gladio would be a good idea,” Clarus says.

“For Prompto, or Ardyn?” Regis asks, and Noctis sees his uncle smile fondly at his father, right before he reaches out and ruffles Regis’s hair, like he so often does to Noctis.

Noctis imagines himself, older and seated behind the desk instead of in front of it, and wonders if Ardyn will still do that to him, too, when he’s the king. He hopes so.

Then he remembers Ardyn’s story about taking on the Starscourge and living forever, watching king after king of Lucis live and love and die before his eyes. His smile fades a little. The older he gets, the more he understands just what sort of sacrifice Ardyn made, when he accepted his role as The Accursed and pledged to stand forever at the side of the Lucian kings.

Noctis straightens even further in his chair. He’ll be worthy of his uncle’s choices. He’ll be a good king, he’ll keep the peace his father is working tirelessly to arrange, and he’ll do everything he can to be a fair and just ruler.

He wants to say this, somehow – to impart that he never meant to add to his father’s worry or burdens during this politically turbulent time, that he just wanted to have a friend and that he will think a little more carefully about his duty from now on.

Instead, he just says, “Sorry I told Prompto to give you a Cactuar Sour, Uncle Ardyn.”

His uncle mouths _mindflayer_ at him, and Noctis ducks his head and smiles.

***

Noctis decides the first thing that Prompto needs is some new clothes. Ardyn’s don’t fit, or _match_ , and they look ridiculous on Prompto’s thin frame. He’s not sure about the implications or even the legality of giving Prompto clothes in Lucian black, which is restricted to all but the royal family and members of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive.

But Prompto is Ardyn’s ward and you don’t get more _Lucis Caelum_ than that, even if Prompto’s surname is Argentum.

Whatever. It’s not like anyone’s going to see Prompto for a bit, with them all being confined to Ardyn’s quarters.

With that in mind, Noctis adds a few other things to the pile of clothes – some comics, a few books that are way better than the boring ones his uncle likes (written in a language Prompto can read), and a blank sketchpad and a duplicate set of colored pencils that he’s never opened. He’s got an old tablet, too, one that doesn’t have a phone but can run apps and has a fairly decent camera.

Noctis knows what it’s like to be kept inside and bored, and those things helped him when he was recovering from the daemon attack.

“I’d bring him some movies, but my uncle told me once he believes people’s souls are trapped in television sets so he doesn’t have one,” Noctis says, to Ignis. “My dad says it’s just because he can’t figure out how to use the DVR, though.”

Ignis grins, in the way he does that makes look him less like an advisor and more like a seventeen-year-old. “Who do you think is right?”

“Given that story about Uncle Ardyn and the microwave? Probably my dad.”

Ignis laughs.

 “You don’t think this is…like, insulting, do you?” Noctis asks, a few minutes later. He chews on his bottom lip. “Giving Prompto my old stuff?”

“Given his options, Noctis, I think it’s fine. No doubt His Grace will give Prompto an allowance, once Prompto is allowed out and about.”

Noctis’s eyes narrow in thought. “Will he? I mean. He’s never had to do that before. He’s only ever given me candy and stuffed animals.”

“I believe he’s given you quite a bit more than that, Noct,” Ignis says, gently. “And I believe he will give the same to Prompto.”

Noctis flushes. He hadn’t meant to sound ungrateful. “No, I – I just meant. He might not know about allowances.”

“Then we shall have to tell him, when the time is appropriate. For now, I think it is very kind of you to share with your Uncle’s ward.” Ignis picks up one of the comics. “Though I’m not sure _SOLDIER VS SEED_ is the best thing to give him to read, is it? Given he’s a former genetically modified soldier himself?”

Noctis thinks about that, then nods. He slides the comics out. “Yeah, okay. Maybe later for those.”

They’re getting everything ready – including some more candy, and not a Cactuar Sour in sight – when Gladio appears. He looks very official and broad-shouldered and badass, the edges of the new part of his tattoo peeking out from beneath his tank top. “Hey. Noct.”

“Gladio,” Noctis says. “What’s up?”

“Look. I don’t want to be a dick about this, but…could you please not break rules and shit without me? I get you didn’t want anyone to know you were going to visit the MT kid. And hell, I think it’s dumb they wouldn’t let you. But I’m your Shield. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where you are.”

Noctis winces. Gladio’s face is unusually serious – a lot like the look Clarus gave him, in the king’s office. Amicitia Disapproval Face, Version 2.0. “Yeah. You got in trouble, huh.”

“That’s not the point,” Gladio says, which means, of course, that he _did_.  “I _should_ have gotten in trouble. I let my prince go face danger without me.”

Oh, boy. Gladio looks so serious. It’s like they’re in one of those comic books Noctis decided not to give Prompto. “You would have been in more danger than me in those passages, big guy. Trust me.”

“I’m not joking around here, Noct,” Gladio says, with that same serious intonation. “I protect you. It’s what I do. If you’re gonna go off and break some rules, I’m not saying I won’t try to talk you out of it. Ain’t saying I won’t break a few with you. But you gotta let me know about it, okay? Keeping you safe is what I do.”    

Ugh. It makes something warm and vaguely embarrassing swirl in Noctis’s stomach hearing that. He and Gladio didn’t have quite the easy start to their relationship as he and Ignis, but things are much better now and Noctis thinks they’re probably on their way to being good friends.

“Yeah. Okay. I mean, I – it just didn’t seem that dangerous to me. You’ll see when you meet him, Gladio,” Noctis says. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Gladio says, as implacable and unmoving as – well, a Shield. “It’s got to do with you trusting me to have your back. If it’s a small ass passage I gotta make it through, I will. You leave that part to me. What you _don’t_ do is leave me behind.”

This still sounds unnecessarily dramatic to Noctis, but he’s learning that being someone’s prince and having retainers means there are some things he’s got to take seriously even if he’s not sure why it matters. “Yeah. Sorry, Gladio.” Noctis bumps his shoulder. “You can kick my ass in training tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Was gonna do that anyway, but sure thing.” Gladio finally smiles. “So. The MT.”

“His name is Prompto,” Ignis interrupts. “Let’s not get in the habit of calling him _the MT_ , since he’s not one.”

“Right.” Gladio leans against the wall and crosses his arms, watching as Noctis shoves the clothing, books and candy into a bag. “You guys planning on running away together?”

For some reason, that makes Noctis blush and scowl at the same time. “What? No. He’s been wearing Uncle Ardyn’s clothes. Imagine that for a minute.”

“Huh. Guessing nothing fits _or_ matches?”

“Got it in one.” Noctis picks up the bag of stuff, vanishing it into the armiger. “Let’s go. Remember. He doesn’t know, like, anything about Lucis. Be nice, and shit. Seriously. He’s had it rough.”

Gladio turns and looks at Ignis. They exchange a look that makes Noctis frown, but he’s not sure why.

Honestly, he probably doesn’t want to know.

***

Prompto is glad to see them, though the addition of Gladio does make him a little nervous, as Noctis figured it would. Gladio’s a big guy, and the muscles and the tattoos make him look like exactly what he is – a soldier. And Noctis doesn’t think Prompto’s had the best experiences with those.

But he’s also friendly, and easy to talk to, and he has Prompto smiling shyly in a matter of minutes. He and Ignis take the chairs across from the sofa, and Noctis flops down next Prompto and shows him the stuff he brought.

Prompto seems a little overwhelmed, and he apologizes for weird things like Ardyn’s clothes not fitting right, but he likes the candy and says he likes to draw, so that’s good. Noctis shows Prompto the new mobile game that just came out, called _King’s Knight,_ which crashes all the time since it’s technically still in beta but is still pretty fun.

The game runs on the tablet, too, and maybe Prompto isn’t supposed to have Wi-Fi access either but whatever, no one will know.

At some point, Ignis and Gladio both get into a crashingly dull conversation about some historical fiction book they’ve both read, so Prompto and Noctis spend some time looking at Ardyn’s display of photographs.

Prompto points to the one of Noctis as a baby, sitting on Ardyn’s lap and wearing his hat. “That’s you.”

“Yeah.” Noctis nods. He wonders if Ardyn has told Prompto about the whole “immortal Starscourge” thing. “Uncle Ardyn’s been around awhile.”

Prompto nods. “Because he can’t die, right?”

“So he did tell you that he’s immortal,” Noctis says.

Prompto shakes his head. “I just figured. I mean. Everyone tried to shoot him in Zegnautus but it didn’t work. And he made time stop. I don’t think you can die, if you can do that.” Prompto never refers to his home before Lucis as _Niflheim._ If he ever calls it anything, it’s _Zegnautus_ or _the Keep._

“Wait. So he didn’t explain why he could do that stuff?”

“No. He said he would tell me later.” Prompto looks at Noctis. “Are you like that, too? You pulled the bag of stuff out of the air, with the candy and the clothes. Like Ardyn does.” He tugs at the sleeves of the new shirt he’s wearing, since Noctis had insisted Prompto change immediately out of the nightmare outfit of Ardyn’s he was wearing when they got there.

It had coeurl, jacquard _and_ houndstooth print. In orange and purple. It was horrifying.

“Yeah. It’s because we’re Lucis Caelums. We can use magic. But that doesn’t mean I’m immortal. I’m not. Neither is my dad. Just, uh. Just Ardyn. He’s the only one that can do the thing with the time, too.”

“Oh.” Prompto nods. “I’ve never seen him eat anything but licorice. Is that why all you eat is candy? Is that a…magic thing, too? A Lucis Caelum thing?”

“His Highness just has terrible eating habits,” Ignis says, coming over to stand by them. “That reminds me. Shall I make us dinner? I’m not sure when His Grace will return, and I….well, I do recall the last time he tried to fix us something to eat.”

“Ugh.” Noctis shudders. “I didn’t know you could burn rice like that.” That whole _refusal to use a microwave_ thing sort of extended to the stove.

_Our ancestors cooked with pure fire, boys. Surely we can do the same._

Yeah. Apparently no, they couldn’t. It probably didn’t help that Ardyn hadn’t had to eat anything he cooked in several thousand years.

“It was kind of him to try,” Ignis demurs, before he heads into the kitchen and starts to putter around, muttering to himself while he pulls out ingredients. There’s some Cup Noodle – which makes Gladio happy and Ignis sigh – but Ignis insists on putting it in real bowls and eating with silverware.

“Usually we have these just in the cup,” Prompto says.

“Just humor him,” Noctis murmurs.

Ardyn comes back a few hours later, cursing bureaucrats and grousing about _long-winded councilmen_ and _why do we need a council, Regis could be a tyrant, he has the beard for it_  -- before collapsing on the couch in a dramatic, elegant sprawl. He glances over at Prompto and his eyebrows raise. “Why, look how decidedly funereal you look.”

“Um.” Prompto glances at Noctis, then back at Ardyn. He clearly can’t tell if he’s supposed to be happy or not about his clothes, since Ardyn’s reaction is giving nothing away. For an expressive man, he can be hard to read. “Is it – okay? Noctis said. That maybe your clothes didn’t fit me.”

“Noctis said your clothes made Prompto look like he was going to sell children out of a van in some parking lot near the Vesperpool,” Gladio says, as blunt as his broadsword.

Noctis turns red, Prompto looks confused, Ignis coughs and Ardyn throws his head back and laughs. “Did he.”

Noctis, in response, just shoves a box of Malted Moogles at his uncle. Ardyn glances at them, then at Noctis, then shrugs and tries one. “These are much better than your usual sugary offerings. You must wish to stay in my good graces.”

“I’m your favorite nephew, aren’t I?” Noctis says.

“You’re most assuredly in the top ten,” Ardyn says, and it’s clear he’s not giving back the Malted Moogles.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Noctis says to Prompto. “I’ve got training in the morning, and I gotta work on a speech but I can do that here. You know. If, uh. You want me to come back.” He clears his throat, because maybe Prompto wants some time to himself for a little while. Maybe he’s not lonely, and Noctis is just projecting or something.  

“Yeah,” Prompto says, with that shy, bright smile. “I do want you to.”

“Cool.” Noctis gives him a half-wave on the way out that makes him feel dorky, but not as much as almost tripping over his own feet does. His ears turn red and he catches his uncle watching him from beneath the brim of his hat, still eating the Malted Moogles.

He’s smiling the self-satisfied look of the cat who not only got the cream but signed up for a monthly subscription service where it was delivered fresh right to his door.

Noctis opens his mouth to ask _what are you so happy about_ , decides he doesn’t want to know, and leaves.

“I told you, right?” Noctis says to Gladio, when they end up back in his room. “Prompto’s cool. He’s not dangerous or anything.”

Gladio and Ignis exchange a look.

“Not so sure he ain’t dangerous,” Gladio says, grinning, elbowing Ignis slyly. “But I got a feeling that might not be a bad thing.”

“Gladio,” Ignis says, and sighs.

Noctis opens his mouth, thinks about Prompto’s shy smile and shuts it again without saying anything. He doesn’t need to ask what they mean.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Prompto really does get to ride a chocobo. 
> 
> Also look if someone wants to draw Ardyn smirking up from under a hat while eating a Malted Moogle, I will write you literally whatever you want. Because the idea of Ardyn smirking up at anyone is hot, and him eating candy makes me smile. 
> 
> Even if I just played through the game, again, and want to KNIFE HIM IN THE FACE for that sequence where you're playing as Noctis, alone with just that stupid ring, finding 823423423 keycards in Zegnautus and THE POISON GAS AND I'M STILL MAD ABOUT THAT, **ARDYN**. 
> 
> ahem.

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed Sephiroth's mom, Lucrecia Crescent, because her being a wacky physicist who studies the practical application of daemonic energy is _actually canon_ , so thanks for that, Square. 
> 
> Next time: Prompto regales us with a tale about how he came to the attention of one Ardyn Lucis Caelum in Zegnautus Keep, how he attended a very historic (and very brief) meeting between the Niflheim Emperor and the Accursed that effectively ended the war, how he came to be standing in the Lucian throne room and why Ardyn decided to call him _Prompto_ in the first place. 
> 
> (Also, the author Making Up Things about daemons, MT Unit armor and science.)


End file.
